


Touch of Destiny: Part I - The Fire Maiden

by Maevelynn



Series: Touch of Destiny [1]
Category: The Adventures of Sinbad (Canada TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, F/M, Loss, Love, Magic, Romance, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:02:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 125,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24577999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maevelynn/pseuds/Maevelynn
Summary: Ahoy, mateys! Maeve and Sinbad are apart for two years, a thousand miles away from each other. Or are they? Why? Love, loss, war, magic, secrets...Here's what they both go through, for better and for worse, and what happens when their worlds finally collide again and the Nomad embarks on its final journey! R&R! Enjoy! xox
Relationships: Maeve/Sinbad (Adventures of Sinbad)
Series: Touch of Destiny [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1805578
Comments: 104
Kudos: 12





	1. Author's note

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> Please take a few minutes to read the author's note so you know what you're getting yourself into! ;)
> 
> Also, all the pictures you'll sometimes see at the beginning of chapters were taken from various sources, google, pinterest, spark adobe, etc. I do not own them. Credit goes to their owners/creators. I just put them together to create little moodboards. No harm intented. :)

**Author's note**

Hello, dear readers! Welcome aboard!

Before you start reading and dive into the story, I just want to drop a quick note to explain a few things. No spoilers I promise, just a few tips on the structure of my story. As you read in the description, _Touch of Destiny_ is about what Maeve and Sinbad go through while they are apart for two years, until their paths finally cross again and the final adventure begins.

It is designed as a trilogy:

Part I : The Fire Maiden

Part II : Collision

Part III : The Magic of Ellysion (this title could change in the future as I have a very undecisive mind...)

In Part I, you will discover what happens to Maeve after the storm sweeps her off the Nomad, and while we all know what Sinbad goes through during the second season of _The Adventures of Sinbad_ , you will also get to see quite a few missing scenes which I took the liberty of sprinkling throughout my story, because let's face it, our captain did not have the best reputation during that season and I felt he deserved a little bit of justice. After that, you will also get to read what happens after season 2, that is during the second year that our favorite couple is separated, with brand new adventures for the Nomad's crew while Maeve continues on her own journey, until eventually everything boils down to their impending reunion.

That reunion will take place in Part II, where you will get to see Maeve and Sinbad's worlds collide again.

As for Part III, well, that's when the final adventure begins for our beloved crew.

So, as you can see, _Touch of Destiny_ is a tremendously long piece of work, and while you may be deterred by the fact that Maeve and Sinbad don't reunite before Part II, after hundreds of chapters to read, I promise you that if you stick around it will be well worth the wait. ;)

Lastly, this story is my ultimate baby. The original storyline first came to me when I was about 15 years old and I started writing my very own book, with original characters completely non-related to AOS and all that jazz. But it wasn't long before I realized that my story could easily be translocated into this beloved fandom. As a result, I slowly began fixing it to make it fit into the world of _The Adventures of Sinbad_. It's been a decade now and I still work on these two projects concomitantly, but my obsession for AOS always seems to get the upper hand so this fanfic progresses way faster than my original book, which I don't think I will ever publish anyway. But if against all odds I do publish it in a very distant future, then you will have caught an exclusive glimpse at the storyline behind it all.

So there you have it, my little introduction. I sincerely hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoy writing it. I am truly beyond excitement to share it with you guys, on the one hand because I just hope I can give Maeve, Sinbad and the Nomad's crew the story they deserve with a proper conclusion, and on the other hand because I feel like this is a test run for the plotline of my original book. At the same time, I must admit I am also completely terrified because it implies I have to let go of this project piece by piece, after an entire decade of shaping it out…

Alright, enough said before I get emotional and start crying. Get on reading, guys! And don't forget to read and review! But most of all, enjoy! :)

Yours truly,

Maevelynn xox

P.S. I suck at posting on a regular basis, but I will ALWAYS post at some point!


	2. Prologue 1 - Gathering Storm

[](https://imgur.com/W0iBOJ4)

**Prologue 1 - Gathering Storm**

_Maeve had read this book so many times she could probably recite it all by heart from beginning to end, just like the other books in her current little library. Still, she flipped another page, her eyes avidly scanning for any information she might have missed or anything she might have overlooked or understood wrong. She hated feeling like this. She hated it when she was searching for something that was impossible to find._

_Bathed by the faint golden glow of the candles on her desk, she was so absorbed in her reading that she barely even heard the soft knock on her door, although she instinctively knew who it was._

" _Maeve?" Sinbad asked tentatively in a low, concerned voice on the other side, most likely noticing the candlelight shining beneath the rim of her door._

" _Come in," Maeve called out, his presence in the middle of the night the most comforting thing she could have wished for at the moment._

_The door gently creaked open as Sinbad quietly slipped inside her cabin. "What are you doing up at this hour?" he asked softly while carefully closing the door behind him._

_As he walked over to her desk where she was sitting, Maeve lifted her eyes up and a lopsided smile curved her lips. "You look ridiculous."_

_Sinbad made a face and rolled his eyes at her recurring comment. "So you've told me, at least three dozen times since last week," he sighed, towering over her in the dim candlelight as he stood beside her._

" _Well, it isn't less true today than it was last week," Maeve pointed out, lifting a knowing eyebrow at him._

_She still couldn't get used to seeing him walk around all day in leather pants and in a tight shirt that highlighted the muscles in his arms. It made him look so different, so solid, so manly…_

_She had struck a deal with him that he could keep the shirt but had to lose the pants; all they needed now was to find a market place that sold proper alternatives to leather._

_What really bothered her though was that she still wasn't sure whether the reason she disliked his new attire was because of how it seemed to attract even more swooning girls, or because of how it made her feel weak in the knees, too. She could tell Sinbad had also realized the subtle effect it had on her, catching her staring at him and blushing many times in the past week despite her best attempts to hide her flushing cheeks._

" _I'll be out of those pants as soon as we find a harbor that sells decent clothes," he reminded her as he leaned over her shoulder to survey the book she was reading. "What are you doing?"_

_Elbows resting on the desk, Maeve buried her face in her hands and let out a small groan of exhaustion. "I'm trying to figure out…something I'm not even sure I understand."_

_Sinbad tilted his head. "Rumina?"_

_Maeve nodded and brushed her fingers on her forehead. She had already confided in him about the strange changes that were occurring in magic ever since their last encounter with Rumina, but she was still stuck at trying to figure out what it all meant._

" _I know it sounds stupid," she began wearily, twisting around in the chair to meet his eyes in the flickering candlelight. "But that chill I got after we blew up her hideout was nothing natural. There was a shift in magic, a major one, and it didn't tip in our favor. Something is wrong. I know it."_

" _Well," Sinbad offered encouragingly as he looked down at her. "You said that Rumina couldn't have conjured up all those awful things on her own, that she probably had help from someone to launch her attacks, so maybe-"_

" _No, this is different." Maeve shook her head and closed the book in front of her. "I'm still convinced she got assistance from someone, someone who somehow magnified her powers or boosted them, I don't know, but the shift was after that, and it was something entirely different."_

_She didn't know how to explain it. It was an impression so hard to describe and qualify._

_Pausing, she considered her next words carefully, unsure how to phrase her suspicions as a cold shiver ran down her spine, her voice lowering in the night as her eyes looked up to meet his. "Something evil has awakened. Something very dark and very powerful. It's out there, somewhere, and I can't shake the feeling that it's coming for us."_

_Sinbad held her gaze, already aware of her growing worries. Taking a deep breath as he leaned down to her eye level, he cupped the back of her neck gently with his hand, his palm warm and comforting on her skin as he spoke." If it is, and whatever it is, we'll face it together, like we always have," he assured her softly, his voice both gentle and firm in the calming silence of her cabin._

_Maeve lost herself in his beautiful blue eyes for a moment, but despite the reassurance she found in them she couldn't shrug the dreadful feeling knotted in her chest._

_Something was wrong. Terribly wrong._

_Sensing she was about to waver, she averted her eyes and stood up to replace the book in her little library, the warmth of Sinbad's hand leaving her neck as she stepped away from him._

_With her back to him, she carefully slid the book back on the shelf where it belonged, all the while feeling the strange visceral fear gnawing at her from the inside._

_Something wasn't right but she was completely clueless about what was putting her so much on edge. It was like going blind right before engaging in a battle, a battle that you knew was coming yet couldn't tell when or where the enemy would strike. It was debilitating._

_Aware that Sinbad's eyes were riveted on her, she inwardly debated whether she could let her composure slip, if only for a brief moment. She always forced herself to stay strong and tough in his presence, but tonight, right now, tired and weary from all her reading, she could feel all her shields crumbling down around her in the darkness and she didn't want to pick them up. Not only that, but it wouldn't be the first time she allowed herself to be vulnerable with him anyway, a comfort she was lately, dangerously growing used to._

_But she didn't care._

_When she turned around, losing herself again in Sinbad's handsome blue eyes so full of concern for her, she let all her iron masks fall at her feet one by one, exposing the raw fear that was eating her inside beneath everything else._

" _I'm scared," she finally admitted almost in a whisper, looking straight into his eyes._

_Time seemed to hold still when the words left her lips, the world narrowing down to the confines of her little cabin bathed in candlelight._

_Holding her gaze unwaveringly, Sinbad stood facing her, a pained and sad look veiling his features and Maeve suddenly felt like she could no longer breathe, nor speak._

_But she didn't need to say another word._

_Slowly, he closed the small distance between them, a silent pull bringing him to her in the dim light._

_When his arms locked around her, Maeve surrendered to his protective embrace, finding refuge and solace against him like a child after a nightmare._

_She didn't know what she was so afraid of, or where the fear was coming from, but it was there. It had been haunting her ever since that cursed chill she had felt right after they had blown up Rumina's hideout, keeping her awake at night and plunging her into nightmares of all sorts._

_Even now, as Sinbad held her securely against him, she couldn't shake the feeling off. Something was wrong, and it scared the wits out of her._

_Closing her eyes, she tried to block the entire world away, to forget about everything but the warmth and safety of Sinbad's arms around her, the place that made her feel shielded from the entire world._

_As he held her head close to his, his voice quietly rang in the heavy silence. "Everything is going to be alright, Maeve," he said softly. "No matter what-"_

_He was interrupted by the distant call of a sailor, Sayid by the sound of it, who shouted in the galley with a voice dripping with alarm. "Captain!"_

_Startled, Maeve flinched in Sinbad's arms._

" _Captain!" Sayid called out again, his voice growing closer as his fist pounded on a distant door, most likely Sinbad's cabin._

_Maeve met Sinbad's eyes in the candlelight and together, instincts kicking in and shattering their little bubble of intimacy, they quickly hurried out of her room._

_When they rushed out the door, they came face to face with the other man who was trotting their way._

" _What is it?" Sinbad asked the upset man, gripping his arm to steady him._

" _A storm is heading our way, sir," Sayid warned them breathlessly, his entire body tensed and stiff and his clothes damp by a heavy drizzle. "It doesn't look good."_

" _Alright, batten down the hatches and reef the sails. I'll be right up," Sinbad assured him with a nod of confirmation, and the sailor immediately turned on his heels to rush back into the galley and out on deck to carry out his captain's orders._

_It totally baffled Maeve that the man didn't even seem fazed by the fact that his captain had been in her cabin in the middle of the night, as if it was completely normal._

_Closing the door of her room behind her, Maeve tilted her head towards the other cabins. "I'll go wake the others."_

_But Sinbad grabbed her arm and locked eyes with her, a strange little flame burning in his gaze as he seemed to want to speak but couldn't find the right words._

_Maeve searched his eyes, unable to move as she longed for the embrace they had just shared and that had been way too short._

_A loud explosion ripped the air as thunder rumbled in the night, and a sharp sense of urgency suddenly surged through her as the wind picked up outside and the hull of the ship creaked._

_Sailors grew agitated on deck, calling out to each other as heavy rain began to drum down, but still Sinbad held her gaze, not making a single move to step away._

_Maeve felt her heartbeat flare up, and when another roaring pop echoed in the sky, making the wood planks shake under their feet and the kettles clatter on the shelves in the galley, she swiftly locked her arms around his shoulders and pulled him tight against her._

_She shut her eyes close, her chest constricting as Sinbad instantly wrapped his arms around her again, one hand pressed firmly between her shoulder blades._

_The distant thunder softly rumbled away, like a remote call to reality, and a lump formed in Maeve's throat, choking her, but before she could lose it completely she detached herself from him and quickly pressed her lips on his cheek in a small kiss._

" _Just in case the sky falls on our heads," she said softly, attempting a smile._

_Sinbad opened his mouth to speak, his eyes heavy with emotion, but she slipped out of his embrace before he could say anything._

_Locking eyes with him one last time, she squeezed his hand briefly then turned and walked away._

_Then everything that happened next became a total blur._

_As soon as she called Doubar, Rongar and Firouz out of bed, along with a few other slumbering sailors, everything turned into chaos up deck._

_The storm was unleashing such savage fury on the ship Maeve thought the Wikken Hells would engulf them all. It was terrifying and unlike anything she had ever seen, as if the ocean and the sky were at war with each other in a giant fight to the death._

_Lightning ripped through the night with murderous roars and angry waves crashed on every side repeatedly, making the ship dangerously rock from right to left as if it was being tossed around like a petty ragged doll. The forceful wind whistled against the loose sails and the rain hammered down on deck, making the wood planks so slippery that most sailors constantly tripped and slid to whatever side the ship was being swung to._

_The downpour also made everything harder to see in the darkness of the night and since everything was wet—the lines, the railing, the shrouds, the masts, the tiller—everything was also much harder to grasp and hold on to, which at this point could mean life or death._

_As thunder rumbled in the night, drenched to the bones with the rain drumming on her back like sharp nails, Maeve struggled to tie up a loose line to the main mast to secure the halyard as sailors heaved to reef the main sail. Water was falling into her eyes and her fingers were numb with the cold but thankfully, they were doing their job methodically, twisting and flipping the ropes to secure a solid knot._

_When a wave crashed on the starboard side with massive force, followed by a waterfall pouring down on the ship, she barely had time to grip the mast with both hands to keep from flying across the deck. Another sailor wasn't as fortunate and a deafening roar of thunder masked his scream as he disappeared into the raging sea over the railing._

" _Man overboard!"_

_Maeve heard the look-out yell over the deafening thunder. It was a miracle the sailor was still in his post up in the crow's nest to watch out for unexpected rocks or miraculous bits of lands._

_When the ship became stable again, her fingers immediately went back to work and she heard Sinbad shouting orders over the rain, his voice music to her ears because as long as she could hear it in the thunderous rumblings of the storm, then it meant he was alright._

_As another forceful wave hit the ship once again, a downpour splashed down on deck, blinding her and nearly sending her down on her knees. Wetter than a fish, she wiped droplets out of her eyes and finished securing the knot she was working on._

_She then struggled to move through the rain to reach the tiller where Sinbad was, but after she climbed the few stairs leading to the quarterdeck she came face to face with Doubar, alone, the powerful man grunting with mighty efforts as he struggled to keep the ship as steady as possible to prevent it from capsizing._

" _Where's Sinbad!" Maeve shouted over the chaos of the night, worry quickly spreading inside her chest._

_His knuckles turning white as his big hands grasped the tiller in an iron grip, Doubar shouted back to her. "He's going up!"_

_Head whipping around as a sharp feeling of alarm flared in her veins, Maeve urgently surveyed the main deck to locate Sinbad._

_As lighting flashed in the murderous sky, she saw him jump for the ratlines, the muscles in his arms straining as he held on for dear life as the ship dangerously rocked to the left._

_The unexpected blow on the starboard side almost sent Maeve diving head first over the railing but Rongar's strong arm coiled around her waist and pulled her against him as he held on to the mizzen mast._

" _Maeve!" Up in the shrouds he was climbing, Sinbad's voice suddenly echoed over the rain. "Get those lines!"_

_Maeve followed his arm to where he was pointing at the stays of the main mast and after one last glance to make sure he was steady in the ratlines, she nearly stumbled down the stairs to make her way back to the main deck. Her teeth were clattering when she reached the stays, the cold rain drumming deep into the core of her bones._

_Her numb fingers curled around the lines but before she could attempt anything to secure them, another powerful wave rocked the starboard side. Her grip tightened on the rough wet cords as she struggled to stay onboard and not slip over the railing. The pull was so strong she thought the ropes would draw blood in the palm of her hands, but Maeve gritted her teeth and held on._

_A flash of lightning ripped the sky again, followed by the boom of rumbling thunder._

_Through the blinding rain falling into her eyes, Maeve saw with a pang of dread that one of the lines she was gripping for dear life was about to tear right above her head, and that promised nothing good both for her and for main mast if they ripped completely._

_Her soaked clothes sticking to her like a second skin, Maeve shook hair out of her face and climbed on the railing to get better access to the weak spot in the ropes._

_But then a new monstrous wave crashed against the ship, and she instantly knew how much trouble she was in._

" _Sinbad!" she cried out his name in terror._

_A splash of water blinded her as the lines she was holding in a death grip scratched her skin raw, her arms burning as she struggled to hold on._

_She heard Sinbad scream her name in wild fear, but he was still up in the ratlines, too far to get to her._

_As the lines slipped from her cold, numb fingers, Maeve screamed._

_Thunder exploded in the night._

_When she hit the water, it was like a thousand daggers of ice pierced every inch of her skin. The shock left her breathless and before she even knew what was happening, struggling to stay afloat as she coughed water out of her lungs, there was a sudden flash of white light igniting all around her in the raging waters, like a star exploding in the sky._

_The last thing she saw before it blinded her was Sinbad climbing on the railing where she had been standing._

_Then everything went as black as death._


	3. Prologue 2 - Always

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can check out this beautiful fanvideo that was inspired by this chapter, made by my beloved friend Inbid. Thank you again, dear! xoxox
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qY_1ztTYveg

[](https://imgur.com/EBheBa6)  
*credit to Inbid :)

**Prologue 2 - Always**

_She was gone._

_No warning._

_No goodbyes._

_Nothing._

_It was unreal and made no sense, and Sinbad couldn't make it make sense._

_All he knew was that he wouldn't get to hold her in his arms and tell her how worried sick he'd been when she fell overboard, when he couldn't find her in the stormy waters, when he thought she was dead. He wouldn't get to see her smile at him with a teasing comment to discard his overprotective concern. He wouldn't get to wish her goodnight tonight, nor watch her come out on deck tomorrow morning._

_She was gone._

_Sinbad's hand tightened on the line he was holding, the calm ocean glittering with flecks of gold on the horizon as the sun descended in the purple sky._

_There was a knot in his chest, cold and painful, as if all the emotions inside him had merged together into a heavy stone he had swallowed. He felt miserable, heartbroken, confused, angry and empty._

_What was he supposed to do now? Go on as if nothing had happened? As if nothing had changed? How could he go on without her? How could he go on without even speaking with her to make sure she was alright? He knew she was physically safe with Dim-Dim, but if she was feeling remotely like him at the moment, alone and grieving, then he wanted to know. He wanted to comfort her, to tell her it would be alright, that he would take care of Dermott for her, that they would see each other again. So many things to tell her..._

_But Dim-Dim had denied them any kind of farewell and he couldn't for the life of him figure out why. How could his mentor wrench them apart like this, when he had played match-maker in the first place when they had met?_

_Perhaps it was because of what he had said earlier...when he warned them about the dark forces growing stronger every day and thus implying that Maeve would have been vulnerable if she had stayed with them on the Nomad._

_Did that mean Dim-Dim thought he wasn't strong enough to protect her? That he would have failed to keep her safe and defend her against any threat of black magic? How could he possibly believe that? Sinbad would have given his life for her. He would have done anything and everything to keep her from harm._

_And yet she had fallen overboard because of him. Because he had told her to grab some bloody lines._

_He kept replaying the scene in his head, like a nightmare on a loop, hearing her scream his name in wild fear. But he had been too far to get to her. Too late to save her._

_The knot in his chest hardened, pressing against his heart._

_He would never be able to forgive himself. If he hadn't asked her to secure the lines, she never would have fallen overboard and Dim-Dim never would have plucked her out of his life so cruelly._

" _Sinbad." Doubar joined him at the prow, his heavy brow darkening the mourning look in his eyes._

_Sinbad gave him a quick look to acknowledge his presence but didn't even try to force a smile as his eyes went back to the sinking fireball in the horizon._

_He could tell his older brother was uncomfortable, unsure what words or questions should be spoken without twisting the knife deeper into the wound, and Sinbad welcomed the feel of his warm, heavy hand on his shoulder that gave a consoling squeeze, choosing silent comfort instead of an outright conversation._

_Besides Dermott, Doubar was the only person aboard the ship who could fully grasp the depth of his grief at the moment. He alone knew that this was the second time he was losing a woman to the sea, unable to save her from the raging waves. But this time the loss was a thousand times worse. When he had lost Lee he had been no more than twelve years old, and what he had shared with her had been an innocent childhood's romance, naive and chaste. It had hurt to lose her, propelling him into manhood and the life of a sailor, with a quest to master the seas so they would never take anyone from him ever again._

_But he had failed. This time the ocean had taken Maeve, and what he had shared with her was rooted much deeper than the young puppy love of a child. But fully acknowledging that notion right now was more than he could endure._

_Lee's loss had pushed him down the path of sailing. Where would Maeve's loss take him?_

" _Sinbad," Doubar spoke again softly, his voice dripping with careful empathy. "It's getting late and we're wondering what you want to do with Bryn. She's going to need a cabin..."_

_Sinbad briefly met his brother's gaze, his heart skipping a painful beat as he understood the hidden meaning in his words. He swallowed hard and nodded. "Give her the guest cabin for tonight. I'll clear Maeve's cabin so she can take it tomorrow." Maeve's name felt like liquid fire in his mouth, and he knew he was speaking the name of a ghost who would haunt him every day from now on._

_Doubar nodded and gave his shoulder another squeeze for lack of better words. Then he simply stood there for a while next to him, silent and hesitant to speak. He watched the sunset for a moment, admiring the fiery colors ripping the sky, until his brotherly concern won out. "Are you alright?"_

_Sinbad shifted his grip on the line, letting the rough texture scratch his palm, and he breathed in slowly. "No, I'm not," he admitted shamelessly. "She's gone."_

_Doubar hung his head down in quiet grief and before he could offer a few comforting words about how safe she was going to be under Dim-Dim's protection, Sinbad cut him off._

" _She was afraid last night," he swallowed hard, painfully remembering the look in Maeve's eyes before the storm had hit. "I found her reading in the middle of the night and she told me she was scared, that there was something at work with magical forces."_

_Sinbad clenched his jaw hard as he recalled the scene, as he recalled the feel of her against him as he held her tightly in his arms in an attempt to ward off her fears. "I told her everything was going to be alright…then she fell overboard after I told her to grab some bloody lines." He had lied to her, offered her a fake sense of protection, and he felt his heart crack some more in anger. "I might as well have thrown her into the water myself."_

" _Sinbad," Doubar said, his brow drawing down in protest as his heavy hand on his shoulder shook him slightly. "It wasn't your fault."_

" _It was, Doubar," Sinbad insisted miserably. "I couldn't keep her safe, that's why Dim-Dim took her away."_

" _Nonsense," his brother firmly replied. "Master Dim-Dim knows you would have given your life to protect her. You jumped in after her. You-"_

" _It wasn't enough," Sinbad shrugged again painfully, his throat going dry. "It wasn't enough…"_

_Doubar went quiet and looked away, as if he knew that nothing he could say right now would make any difference._

_The weight of silence crushed them as the sun continued his descent in the horizon and they just stood there, quietly_ mourning.

" _We're all going to miss her," Doubar finally said heavily, his voice dripping with sadness._

_Sinbad stared ahead and fisted his palm hard around the line, sensing his composure was on the verge of slipping. "Aye…" was the only word he could form._

_As a soft breeze flew by, gently blowing in their faces as if to wash away their grief, Doubar calmly nodded, acknowledging the end of their conversation, and with a final brotherly squeeze of his shoulder, he stepped away._

_When Sinbad heard the door leading below deck close in the distance, he let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. The knot in his chest nearly choked him at the prospect of giving away Maeve's cabin to another, confirming the reality of her departure and breaking the illusion he was clinging to that she couldn't possibly be gone._

_But he had no choice. He wished he could give Bryn the guest cabin but it was a much smaller one and they often needed it when passengers traveled with them, otherwise using it as a spare storage room the rest of the time, and he couldn't let her sleep in the crew's quarters with all the other sailors either. She was a lady and was entitled to the same privacy Maeve had had._

_As he contemplated the task of going through Maeve's things, Dermott flew down to him and perched on the railing before him, a sad little squeak escaping his beak._

_Sinbad extended a hand and softly ruffled the feathers on the hawk's chest, at a loss of words to comfort the grieving bird._

_Dermott squawked in quiet understanding, puffing his feathers and turning around to look at the last bit of sunlight disappearing below the ocean line, like a dying fire slowly burning out._ _When the sun had vanished for good, its bright flames no longer casting their warm golden glow on the ocean and the ship, Sinbad felt cold and empty, and the knot in his chest hardened again._

" _What are we going to do?" he asked in a low voice, afraid to speak louder lest he heard an answer he didn't want to hear. Dermott gently squawked, letting him know he had no clue either._ _"The Nomad won't be the same without her," Sinbad observed painfully, a shiver running down his spine as he sensed he wouldn't be the same man without her either._

_Dermott screeched again in mournful agreement, his keen black eyes fixing the horizon where the sun had shone moments ago._

" _I'm sorry I couldn't protect her," Sinbad added sadly, running a gentle finger on Dermott's feathers in apology, only to earn a protesting flap of wings in return._

_But Sinbad dismissed the hawk's disproval, and with one final glance at the sunless horizon, he finally turned around to head below deck to do the unthinkable._

_When he stepped into the galley, it struck him how foreign everything felt. He had owned the Nomad for more than a year now, knew every creaking sound in the hull and every notch in the beams and every shadow in every corner of every room, but tonight, it felt like a ghost ship._

_The galley was deserted and not a soul could be heard or seen. There was no sign that people had eaten supper, no ushered discussions in the dark, no card games, no fiddle or flute, no laughter. Only silence and a lonely lantern. As if everyone was quietly mourning in solitude._

_Sinbad's eyes fell on the table, where a single book lay in one corner. One of her magic books. And no one had touched it._

_He picked it up, his jaw clenching in response, and after grabbing an empty wooden crate in a corner, he snatched the lantern and headed for her cabin, to the last place where they had shared a moment together._

_When he closed the door behind him, the silence and darkness of the room hit him hard. It was as if her presence and her scent were still lingering in the air, yet there was no sign of her. Her cabin was still inhabited by all of her things and yet it felt emptier than ever. She was gone._

_The knot of tangled emotions in his chest rose in his throat, almost choking him as he simply stared at the room. If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost see her sitting at her desk, her red hair shining a warm copper in the candlelight._

_He retraced the steps he had taken the night before, walking to her desk to stand behind her chair and peek over her shoulder to see what she was reading._

_He set the crate and the lantern on her desk, casting light on the empty chair._

_If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost see her as she stood up to replace her book on its shelve in her bookcase and then hesitantly turned around to face him, admitting she was scared._

_Caught in the painful memory, his feet took him to the very spot where he had taken her into his arms, holding her close for the last time._

_But there was no one to hug now. She was gone._

_He balled his fists at his sides and swallowed hard, brushing the scene away from his mind._

_He went back to her desk and as the anger and the pain began to simmer inside him like a storm threatening to explode, he decided he would only leave the books behind, for Bryn to use in the future. Maeve had read them all countless times to pursue her training on her own for lack of having a teacher after Master Dim-Dim was swept away. Perhaps Bryn could find a few tips on how to control her powers somewhere in the little library as well._

_But Sinbad couldn't let her have the rest of Maeve's stuff. He just couldn't. It was silly because they were both women and Bryn would most likely end up using the same basic things, like a hair brush and a mirror, but these things belonged to Maeve and the possessiveness inside him was burning like a bonfire. No one would touch her things while she was gone, especially not her personal belongings. He would guard them in the safety of his own cabin until she returned._

_After placing her hairbrush and ivory mirror inside the crate, remembering how the sun hit on her flaming curls, he took the small wooden box on the corner of her desk and ran his fingers softly over the Celtic knotted symbols carved on the lid._

_Curiosity getting the better of him, he opened it and peeked inside, feeling like an intruder in the life she'd been so secretive about. Inside were numerous little trinkets; a golden brooch with a beautiful pattern of woven knots, a small dagger with a dull blade, a few coins and hair pins, a bronze bracelet with two finely carved dragon heads on either end of the wrought material, one of the knotted triangular golden pins she wore on the shoulder of her outfit and that had come off a few days ago, an old folded letter written in Gaelic...Tokens of the life she had lead before she had met him, a life he barely knew. Did these things belong to her family? Had the small pieces of jewelry once belonged to her mother? Was the letter from a lover she had left behind?_

_Sinbad gritted his teeth in an attempt to lessen the pain in his chest while every beat of his heart felt like nails hammered into his lungs._

_He closed the box and carefully placed it inside the crate before moving to the large wooden cabinet in the corner, where more books were stored along with candles and bowls and magic potions. Those he could leave to Bryn, but not the long blue scarf Maeve had often draped across her shoulder and hooked at her hip. This he took and stuffed inside the crate as well._

_Then his eyes rested on the massive chest next to the cabinet, on top of which was a helmet adorned with two horns. Eyolf's helmet._

_His heart tightening warmly, he lifted it gently in his hands, a sad smile almost tugging at his lips as he recalled the teasing look in Maeve's eyes as she had placed it atop her head and wittily averted his question about what had happened exactly between her and Eyolf, shamelessly trying to make him jealous. And jealous of the Norseman he certainly had been, with Doubar, Firouz and Rongar giving him their best trademark grins while he blushed and babbled to defend himself and blame his interest on simple curiosity._

_Shaking his head softly at the memory, he glanced down at the massive chest at his feet, which he knew was full of luxurious dresses and beautiful silks, a gift from Queen Nadia after they had rescued her kingdom from Vincenzo's treacherous form of art. Sinbad had secretly asked for the gift as a favor, with the hope of sprinkling some womanly delights back in Maeve's life which had become that of a sailor on a men's ship, to prove to her that he did acknowledge her femininity and could be as considerate of women as Vincenzo had pretended to be with his fake romantic attitude that had seduced and lured her to his artistic wicked trap._

_He could still remember the look on her face when she had opened the chest on deck and the moved gratitude in her voice as she marvelled at the soft fabrics. He had felt like a teenage boy giving flowers to a girl for the first time, inwardly blushing like crazy, and in return she had given him a small stubborn smile and assured him that all she truly wanted was to be part of his crew._

_Sinbad pulled at the trunk by the iron rings on the side and slid it to the door. He would have to take that too. He would be damned if he let another woman wear any of these._

_Especially the red dress._

_He had seen her in it only once, during a festival held in one of the lesser villages near Bagdad merely a week ago, and still the memory of her in the fine fabric with her hair pinned up took his breath away._

_But not now._

_Now the memory ripped him apart. Because that night during the celebration, he had held her against him as they danced, one arm around her waist and the other one raised up to hold her hand in his, and as the soft music had engulfed them in a bubble of intimacy, with her head leaning close against his, she had softly asked him what hurt the most; saying something and wishing you hadn't, or saying nothing and wishing you had?_

_Whispering back in her ear, he had told her he was still trying to figure it out._

_But it was a lie._

_He knew perfectly well what hurt the most. And the pain was unbearable right now._

_Sinbad felt himself shake, his jaw clenching as the rage flooded inside him and abruptly reached a white-hot peak, exploding like thunder in his heart. Seeing red, his fingers closed around the three-branched candle bracket sitting on Maeve's desk and he savagely hurled it across the room with all his might, the iron loudly shattering on the wall and clanking to the ground._

_When silence crashed down on him once more, he was breathing hard, anger surging through his veins like poison, but then his eyes fell on the bed and his breath caught in his throat, as if a knife had suddenly plunged under his ribs._

_On her covers lay her sword, her cloak and her glove._

_He stood frozen for a moment, unable to move, unable to breathe._

_Because once he took those items away, she would truly be gone._

_The dark anger slowly melting away, he walked to the bed and sat down heavily, defeated and broken, his heart painfully beating against his ribcage. Trembling, his hand reached for her sword and delicately closed around the hilt that her own hands had held so many times. He ran his fingers along the length of the blade, marvelling at the Celtic designs engraved in the reflective surface. He had never seen a sword like hers before, and he didn't know where she had gotten it either, but it was a magnificent piece of art and the story behind it must surely include both a very talented blacksmith and a rich sum of money._

_At the thought, Sinbad laid the sword back on the covers and cursed himself quietly, angry that all the things he didn't know about her were suddenly jumping out at him from the darkness, taunting him and laughing at him, turning her into a stranger._

_How could he know so little about who she had been and yet know everything about who she was?_

_Her short fiery temper when something or someone picked on her nerves, her insufferable stubbornness to win arguments when she knew she was right, her compassionate nature and ability to listen and console, her unyielding determination to protect those in need, her sense of justice and truth, her witty comebacks when they playfully bickered and teased one another, her emotional strength, her frustration at showing vulnerability, her protectiveness and possessiveness towards him..._

_How could he know so little about the life she had lead and the trials she had gone through, and yet be able to read her like an open book and see the ghost of those trials and heartaches shine in her eyes when they came to haunt her?_

_His hand reached next for her leather glove, which he knew he would have to give to Bryn so she could take care of Dermott, something he would make sure that she did with the utmost devotion every single day. Because of all the things Maeve had left behind, Dermott was the most precious one, and Sinbad would guard him with his life no matter what happened. He may have failed to protect her, but he swore to himself he would not fail to protect him._

_Carefully_ _, he put the glove back on the bed beside him and his fingers next closed around her heavy brown cloak. He took it in his lap and stared at it, picturing her wrapped up in it in his head, up on deck in the bitter cold weather they often encountered on the high seas._

_She had never liked the cold yet she was from the North, a contradiction he had once teased her about and to which her sassy reply had been that as a remedy her people knew lots of ways to keep warm. She had smirked at him with a glint in her eyes, and under the giggles of the crew he had flushed bright red._

_By the stars, how many times had a similar scene taken place? With the two of them teasing and flirting while the others enjoyed themselves at their expense? He and Maeve had been so stubborn...so proud...so afraid...How many things had they taken for granted? How many things had they left unsaid?_

_Sinbad's eyes suddenly blurred._

_It was too late now._

_She was gone._

_He wouldn't get to see her smile again, or hear her laugh, or watch the sun catch in her hair, or hold her safely in his arms, or tell her how much he cared, how much he-_

_His hands fisted in the fabric of the cloak and he shut his eyes close, clenching his jaw as he felt himself choke. He shook inside and tried to fight it, but the pain that ripped him apart was too sharp and at that moment, alone in the dim darkness of her cabin, he quietly lost it._

_He cried._

_His head fell down and he felt the tears roll down his cheeks, dripping on the brown leather fabric he was clutching tightly, as if he was holding a little part of her against him, his knuckles turning white._

_He wanted her in his arms right now. He wanted to hold her tight against him if she was crying as well, and tell her everything would be fine, just like he needed her to hold him and tell him the same thing. That they would be alright. That they would make it through._

_But she was gone. And there was no telling when she would come back. Days...months...years...Dim-Dim had failed to mention this precious little detail, and who knew when he would contact the crew again._

_It was so unfair._

_What had they done to deserve this? What were they being punished for? They had both faced so many trials in the past...neither of them deserved another load of heartache._

_But apparently fate had other plans in store for them...Or was it the dark forces taking pleasure in tormenting them? Forcing them to live a thousand miles apart?_

_Dim-Dim had said the world was growing darker and more dangerous, that goodness was fading under the gathering shadows of black magic and evil doers, implying that Maeve would have been a target of all that impending gloom and that Rumina would have killed her before her time. Why? What did that mean?_

_Sinbad wiped the tears away, anger returning in his heart, and he latched on to it to suppress the storm of pain that raged inside him._

_He didn't understand it, but one thing was clear enough: Maeve couldn't come back as long as the dark forces were too strong or else her life would be in danger, and for some reason Master Dim-Dim didn't believe Sinbad suitable enough to keep her safe, and it hurt to think he might be right._

_But he would prove him wrong, Sinbad thought, gritting his teeth in grim determination, his fingers digging in Maeve's cloak._

_He would show his mentor and everybody else what he was capable of. Wherever they sailed next, if evil reared its ugly head, he would destroy it mercilessly, with his bare hands if he had to, and he would show everyone just how strong he could be. And he wouldn't stop until the world was safe enough for Maeve to come back._

_Clenching his jaw_ _hard_ , _with every fiber of his body ablaze with this new purpose like a rising fever, he stood up, draped Maeve's cloak over his arm and grabbed her sword. He went back to her desk to retrieve the wooden crate containing her things, balancing it on his hip, and left her cabin. After placing everything in his own room, he went back to fetch the large chest of fine dresses and pushed it down the alley, not caring if the noise attracted attention and woke the other sailors up._

_With his heart throbing painfully in his chest, he then lingered in Maeve's doorway, eyes surfing on the interior one last time, replaying in his head every small moment he had ever spent in the room with her, burning them all in his memory, then closed the door behind him._

_When he was back in his own cabin he wiped a heavy hand on his face, rubbing his eyes wearily, suddenly feeling both physically and emotionally drained. But before he dropped down on his bed—it wasn't like he would be able to sleep anyway—he went about the task of storing Maeve's things away._

_The chest of rich clothes was pushed in the farthest corner of his room, with the wooden crate of her personal belongings perched on top of it. After that, he hesitated a moment with her brown cloak in his hands, but then tossed it on his bed to use as an extra blanket for the night, wondering how long the fabric could preserve her unique scent he loved so much. As for her sword, he placed it on his desk as a reminder to keep the blade filed and sharp for when she came back._

_As he did so, his eyes fell on his red bandana, or at least what was left of it thanks to Firouz a week ago. It was a little token of the man he had been with her and could no longer be if he hoped to survive without her and fight the dark forces with harsh, unyielding dedication like he intended to._

_Squeezing the remnant of the bandanna in his hand with a forbidding look, painfully wondering if Maeve still had the other half or if she had lost it during the storm, he went to the corner and tucked it in the wooden crate with her things, along with all the other memories of the past year._

_Then, casting one last look at the relics of her presence, he was about to turn around when a sudden urge rippled through him and he reached for her little box of trinkets._

_Gently ruffling inside it for a moment, he wasn't quite sure what he was searching for, but then his fingers curled around the Celtic triangular golden pin she had worn on the shoulder of her outfit, the pin that had fallen off mere days ago and that she had planned to sow back in place. He ran his thumb softly over the fine little knotted design then squeezed it tightly in his fist._

_A little piece of her. To carry around with him._

_A reminder of his biggest weakness, of the woman who had stolen his heart the moment he met her, and who had ripped it out of his chest when she fell overboard, taking it with her._

_He would be an empty shell without her, another man, but at least a small part of her would be with him, no matter how dark his world became._

_Always._


	4. Prologue 3 - Secrets

[](https://imgur.com/30bSQM0)

**Prologue 3 – Secrets**

_"How is she?"_

_Dim-Dim tore his gaze away from the window overlooking the distant white-sanded beach bathed in bright sunlight and went back to pouring tea into his cup. He sighed heavily, his heart twisting a little in his chest before he replied to his wife, her reflection keeping him company in the small mirror set before him on the table._

_"Same way you would feel if you were torn away from the people you love and replaced by another overnight: crushed." He set the teapot aside and glanced back at Maeve's lonely figure in the distance, keeping a weather eye on the horizon to catch a glimpse of white sails that would never appear. "The rest of the time I'm pretty sure she wants to snap my head off."_

_"You had no choice," Caipra insisted calmly, trying to dissipate his doubts. "Galen will be furious you interfered with the storm, but the transition will be easier this way."_

_"I don't think any sort of transition will soften the blow," Dim-Dim mused sadly. "Perhaps Galen was right all along; maybe I should have told them the truth from the start."_

_"Everything would be different if you had," Caipra pointed out, reiterating her opinion. "You did the right thing."_

_Dim-Dim smiled a cunning smile at his beloved wife, living a thousand miles away from him in the comfort of her home in Basra. "For someone who doesn't even know the full account of the matter at hand, you have an awful lot of faith in me, my dear."_

_"I've always had faith in you, and I always will," Caipra returned his smile softly with a twinkle of her own in her eyes, but then she turned serious again. "You believed the two of them were destined to meet. Well, they did and nothing happened. Galen and the Central Council were afraid it would be too dangerous yet the world still kept on turning."_

_"Yes, but I fear that is about to change," Dim-Dim said grimly, looking out the window again at the peaceful serenity of the realm he was trapped into, powerless to stop the upcoming storm that was threatening to crush the real world beyond. "The skies are darkening overhead, love. Galen reacted on time. He did the right thing as well."_

_"How long before you send her away?" Caipra asked, concern sharpening her voice._

_"I don't know, I'm still waiting for Jacob to contact me," Dim-Dim replied with a sigh. "Sending her first to him in Denwood will hopefully lessen the blow, as opposed to sending her straight to Erindale…In the meantime, I'm wondering if I should tell her everything or let the Central Council handle it. I fear she's not ready to take it all in, not right now at least, not when her separation from the Nomad is still so recent and painful. Besides, I wouldn't even know where to begin…"_

_"I'm afraid I can't advise you on the matter," Caipra said with an apologetic shake of her head. "I know so little about what's going on, even with the tidbits you've shared with me."_

_Dim-Dim looked at his wife heavily, the weight of guilt washing over him again for keeping secrets from her. "I wish I could tell you everything. It would be such a blessing to carry this burden with you, but I can't. It's too dangerous."_

_"I know. You swore an oath." Caipra shrugged dismissingly, then addressed another important matter. "What about Sinbad?"_

_Dim-Dim's eyes found Maeve's lonely figure on the beach once more. "I told him and the crew that the turn of events was best for Maeve's safety, that Rumina would have otherwise killed her before her time."_

_"They believe the storm was her doing?" Caipra asked._

_"It doesn't matter what they believe," Dim-Dim explained. "What matters is that Maeve is safe. As for Sinbad, the road he will henceforth travel on will have many bumps along the way, but in the end he will be alright. They both will. You've seen them together; they can do everything."_

_"Aye,_ together _they can," Caipra pointed out. "But what if the Central Council doesn't allow it? What if they keep them apart like Galen wanted to do in the first place?"_

_"I won't let that happen," Dim-Dim replied firmly. "When the time comes they will see each other again, but right now it's inevitable; until we figure out what the prophecies mean and who has access to them, they have to go separate ways. And they have a long way to go before the final journey begins…"_

_"That doesn't sound very encouraging," Caipra observed with the lift of an eyebrow. "What if Sinbad comes to me? What do I tell him?"_

_Dim-Dim thought for a moment, sadness gripping him. "Tell him she's safe. Tell him she's safe with me."_

_"So I'm supposed to lie to him," Caipra said in slight disapproval._

_"I wish there was another way, love, but if Sinbad knows where she is, he will sail there in a heartbeat and that would be a disaster waiting to happen," he stated bitterly. "The Central Council was on Galen's side from the start, as was Beyar for that matter, even if he never openly supported either of us. He was always stuck in the middle of our quarrels…" Dim-Dim shook his head regretfully, recalling all the animated discussions he had had with the two men such a long time ago, but he dismissed the loaded memories and continued on with his main train of thought. "None of them wanted Maeve and Sinbad to meet. By bringing them together a year ago on the Isle of Dawn, I went against everything they believed in. If Sinbad shows up in Erindale they'll know I was the one who sent him there and it will only make matters worse, adding many unnecessary, risky complications to the big picture and with the looming war Kalladrell is facing, that is one problem they do not need."_

_Frowning thoughtfully, Caipra rubbed her fingers on her forehead. "I still don't understand why you have to send her into that warzone when the matter at hand is about keeping her safe. It sounds rather counterproductive. She was safe with Sinbad on the Nomad and-"_

_"That is where all the danger lies," Dim-Dim declared gravely, unable to reveal any more details to his wife. "They will see each other again, I will see to that myself, but I have to be careful as to when and where they reunite, or else the odds could tip in darkness' favor."_

_Caipra listened to him silently, watching him through the mirror across the miles separating them. "I suppose you're right," she sighed dejectedly. "Especially now that Turok is back from the dead…"_

_"Indeed, fate has an odd sense of humor when it comes to balancing out the players on both sides," Dim-Dim commented gloomily._

_"Have you told her he's back?" Caipra asked, the tone of her voice clearly indicating that he should._

_"No, and I don't intend to," Dim-Dim answered plainly, holding his wife's scolding gaze as they silently challenged each other's opinions from either side of the mirror. "Kalladrell is all the way to the west. I seriously doubt Turok has any notion of its existence and I suspect he is considerably weakened at the moment to even attempt such a journey. Rumina will most likely nurse him back to his strength somewhere in the east, away from our prying eyes."_

_"But Maeve must have felt the shift in magic," Caipra observed, pointing out the obvious._

_"She has, but not enough to suspect his return from the Wikken Hells," Dim-Dim replied._

_"I suppose you haven't told Sinbad either?" she asked, the scold returning to her face._

_Dim-Dim looked away sheepishly. "There's no need to worry him and his crew for now. Like I said, I suspect it will be a while before we encounter father and daughter again."_

_Caipra let her scowl soften a bit. "Then I suggest we use their absence to our advantage in the meantime. What about these prophecies you mentioned?"_

_"That is one of our big problems," Dim-Dim said, exhaling deeply. "We are lucky to have a prophet on our team; one of the prophecies Jacob picked up a few weeks ago is most alarming, which is why he rapidly warned Galen. I cannot discuss the content of the prophecy with you, but let's just say that if other prophets had wind of it as well, then we better pray they serve the cause of Good instead of Evil, because if this prophecy falls into the wrong hands, then it won't be long before the dark forces set out to find the missing piece of information they need, now that they know where to find it."_

_Caipra glanced at him, a sudden spark of understanding flashing in her eyes as they slightly widened. "Maeve," she whispered. "That's why you're sending her away."_

_Dim-Dim averted his eyes, a part of him kicking himself for revealing too much, while another part of him was proud of his wife's sharp mind as her perspicacious intellect connected the pieces together: the prophecy, the dangerous information it was mentioning and where it could be found, and Maeve being sent into hiding for protection shortly after the prophecy was revealed._

_"In a manner of speaking," Dim-Dim conceded grimly, bringing his gaze back to his wife. "But until she herself learns the truth, she won't be able to divulgate anything."_

_Caipra frowned. "That makes no sense. She has information the dark forces want, but she doesn't know it yet?"_

_"I cannot tell you anymore," Dim-Dim shook his head, dismissing the matter before he could disclose anything that could put his wife in danger. "You know too much already."_

_But Caipra refused to drop the subject, pressing him again on safety issues. "But you, Galen and Beyar know about this information as well. The three of you took an oath to safeguard whatever segment of history the rest of the world was deemed better to forget. Won't our enemies seek you out as well to get what they want?"_

_"Aside from the Wizards of the Central Council in Erindale, no one knows we took that oath, no one knows we possess such dangerous knowledge," Dim-Dim explained calmly. "Unfortunately, this works both ways. We neither have any idea which of our evil counterparts also hold this dangerous fragment of history. It would be wise to assume some of them do, and if those people have heard the prophecy and grasped its implication, then you can rest assured that they will spring into action to find the person who has the information they need."_

_"Maeve," Caipra completed for him, then urgently went on. "You should keep her with you then. No one will find you-"_

_"No," Dim-Dim cut her off. "The longer she stays here the more the dark powers of this realm can suck out her energy like it's doing to me. She has to leave."_

_"But what if this great evil Kalladrell is currently facing knows about this prophecy and what it means?" Caipra spoke alarmingly. "By sending Maeve into that warzone, it will be like serving her to the dark forces on a silver platter!"_

_"Not necessarily," Dim-Dim observed, weighting his words carefully. "The prophecy only hints at the person who can reveal the key information, but the forces of darkness have yet to identify Maeve as that specific person. Galen, Beyar and I may know for a fact that it_ is _her, but that's only because our paths inadvertently crossed all those years ago when she came to me on the Isle of Dawn, as ironic as that was..." His voice trailed off for a moment, recalling the day when the young woman he'd been searching for for a decade of his life had ironically found him instead, seeking his help. But he quickly shrugged the memory away and continued. "This gives us an advantage over our enemies because we can protect Maeve from their clutches should they try to get to her. Sending her to Kalladrell where an entire army will be able to protect her is our best chance to keep her out of harm's way."_

_"Until what?" Caipra argued. "Someone is bound to figure out that she's the one the prophecy speaks of at some point. Turok might figure it out, or Rumina, or Scratch…What will we do then?"_

_"Protect her at all cost," Dim-Dim declared gravely. "Whatever happens, she must not fall into the hands of evil. She must not reveal what they seek."_

_Caipra sat back heavily in her chair, quieting down for a moment while she digested everything they were discussing, churning it over in her head. "I guess it was a good thing to keep her in the dark after all. As long as she doesn't know anything, she's safe. The rest of the world is safe."_

_"Oh I'm sure Galen would argue otherwise," Dim-Dim replied bitterly. "We could have better prepared her for what's to come."_

_"What's Sinbad's role in all of this?" Caipra abruptly asked, eying him intently from the other side of the mirror. "And Bryn's? Are you sure it was wise and safe to send her on the Nomad, considering the crew's history with Rumina?"_

_"Bryn wears a bracelet," Dim-Dim said, exposing his argument. "She takes after her mother, not her father."_

_"Right, the bracelets," Caipra mused critically, tilting her head to catch his eye. "Another matter which you can't discuss with me."_

_Dim-Dim averted his gaze regretfully. "Believe me, I wish I could."_

_Pursing her lips in slight frustration, Caipra let out another loud sigh and rubbed her temple with two fingers, as if to soothe an upcoming headache. "This is all very complicated…_

_"I know," Dim-Dim sighed, joining in on his wife's restlessness. "Maeve and Sinbad's journey is like a game on a chess board. Every move they make must be carefully planned if we even hope to maintain the balance of Life itself."_

_"I'm sure they'll be thrilled to hear that they are but pawns in the grand battle of power between Good and Evil," Caipra snarled bitterly, a veil of sadness falling on her features as she tugged her shawl tighter around herself._

_Dim-Dim looked down into his cup of tea, the guilt surfacing once more. "They are far more than simple pawns, love. They are important key players, and it's only a matter of time before our enemies figure it out and spring into action."_

_He swallowed hard, well aware that this was another crucial turning point in the battles to come; when the forces of darkness finally discovered the truth, putting the pieces of the puzzle together, everything would become a race against time to protect Maeve's life._

_Sinbad's life would be just as vital, and Dim-Dim sensed he would be the one launching out the final strike, but if something went wrong along the way there were always Bryn or Tetsu to carry out the deed instead. But Dim-Dim prayed it wouldn't come down to that alternative._

_He prayed every day for the upcoming trials not to be as dark, painful and bloody as he could foreshadow them to be, but the road ahead was simply too long, tortuous and dangerous to clearly behold its final destination. Thus, he feared what the ultimate outcome would be._

_He wished things could have been different, that he could somehow wield enough power to sway the circumstances to their advantage, but his magic unfortunately only allowed him to catch glimpses of the flow of time, denying him the ability to alter its course._

_If it hadn't been for Turok's curse sending him to this alternate secluded place, he might have had the chance to explain everything to Maeve and Sinbad when they had first met, but fate had decided otherwise and now they would have to learn and deal with it all the hard way._

_And Dim-Dim had foreseen how hard that way would be._

_War was coming. A war he would not be able to fight._

_The people he cared about would be on the front lines, in the midst of terrible battles, and all he could do was warn and arm them as best as he could. But so far he had done a terrible job. Caipra might insist he had done the right thing, but lately he was beginning to see Galen's point of view a lot more._

_Maeve had no idea what was awaiting her, and he still didn't have a clue on how to break it all up to her. She was hurting badly at the moment, grieving for everything she had lost, her brother, the crew, Sinbad, and she was mad at him for it, blaming him for the unfair turn of events, for snatching her away so unexpectedly._

_There was just so much to tell her…But how could he possibly burden her with the weight of the world now, when her own world was shattering?_

_But he had no choice. He would have to tell her something at some point, hopefully before Jacob contacted him and he had to send her away._

_"Life certainly has a lot in store for them," Caipra sadly observed, her voice yanking him out of his thoughts._

_Dim-Dim's gaze floated back towards the beach once more where Maeve still stood frozen like a statue, glancing at the empty horizon. "Destiny has touched them both," he said heavily, sorrow coloring his voice._

_It was a special touch, beautiful and deadly, timeless, a touch that bore the weight of overwhelming duties, cruel sacrifices and bittersweet heartache. Dim-Dim wished he could rid Maeve and Sinbad of its tragic taint, to spare them the painful months that were coming, and yet he couldn't think of anybody else in the world to fill their shoes._

_This was their destiny, and he knew that together they would find a way to prevail, no matter the hardships they had to face and endure down the road._

_Stifling a pang of sorrow for the couple he cared so much about and who had no idea what was awaiting them, Dim-Dim brought his gaze back to his wife in the small mirror set on the table before him. She was watching him longingly._

_"I miss you," she said softly._

_The words crushed him as he reached out to touch the glass, his fingers only feeling the cold surface. "I miss you too, love. When all this is over I am coming straight home."_

_"Good," Caipra smiled sadly. "Because your dinner has grown quite cold."_

_"Yes, how could I forget that lentil stew…" Dim-Dim chuckled tenderly, remembering the special meal Caipra had told him she would cook that evening so many years ago, that evening when he never returned home. A lump formed in his throat at the memory but he forced himself to speak. "I don't know when I will be able to contact you again, but I want you to know that…not a day has gone by in all those years where I didn't think of you."_

_He saw a tear roll down his wife's cheek but she quickly brushed it away with the corner of her shawl. "You old softy," she teased, but then the smile faded from her lips. "I love you."_

_Dim-Dim felt his own vision blur. "I love you too, my love."_

_And at that moment the images on the mirror began to fade, the shapes and colors twisting and blending together as if the glass was suddenly melting._

_Then Caipra was gone, his own reflection staring back at him._

_Dim-Dim waited a few minutes, controlling his breathing and the pressure inside his heart, then he reached out shakily and pressed the mirror down on the table._

_He knew it would be years before he saw his wife again, and he could do nothing except endure the everlasting longing that was slowly nibbling at his soul._

_He looked out the window again, at the spot where Maeve hadn't moved an inch on the beach, watching the sunset on the horizon, and he hoped she would learn to endure the longing, too._


	5. Going Back

[](https://imgur.com/kwnFOxK)

**Chapter 1 – Going Back**

Maeve ran, her heels digging in the sand and her heart thundering against her rib cage. A few rolling waves came crashing at her feet as she raced down the beach but she paid no heed to their gentle flaps against her calves. She just ran, the muscles in her thighs burning with the effort.

The sun had just arisen, ocean water still dripping from its fiery globe in the horizon. Warm rays of light caressed the shore line and cast the long shadow of her silhouette next to her, making it look as if she were racing against it.

However, Maeve looked ahead and ahead only, where a tall column of smoke was circling up in the sky. Fear crept into her bones as she ran in the direction of the little house. She couldn't yet see it, as it was nestled on top of a small green hill just around the next bend, but she dreaded what she would discover when she made the final turn. She prayed to the good spirits that Dim-Dim was alright. The mere thought that something might have happened to him made her push herself harder in the sprint, her fingers tightening their death grip on her boots which she had grabbed in a flash when the blast had occurred.

What on earth had he done? One minute she had been peacefully staring off at the sunrise, stealing quick glimpses into the waves to watch over Sinbad currently fighting on the white rooftops of a city she didn't recognize, and the next there had been a massive explosion coming from the house's direction. What if one of his spell had gone wrong and he had blown their residence to pieces? What if he had gotten badly injured in the process? What if he was—Maeve pushed the thought away, forcing her legs to keep going. Her red curls flowed in the wind as she sped up her pace in the final turn around the sandy bend.

The little cottage was still there, at least what was left of it. She halted for the split of a second, taking in the sight before her. Smoke was still puffing out of the windows and the shutters had been blown away. Erupting from their openings, black scorch marks were spreading their fingers outward all over the whitewash of the walls, making it look as if cinder spiders were trying to come out of the windows. The door had managed to resist the explosion but was now weakly hanging on its hinges. Part of the roof looked like it had been torn off and debris were scattered all over the green grass around the house. Maeve recognized a few of the ashen-looking books, one of the kitchen chairs, pots and kettles of all sorts, pieces of clothing, Dim-Dim's staff… But Dim-Dim himself was nowhere to be seen. He was still inside.

Putting her boots on hurriedly, Maeve dashed toward the small cottage. "Master Dim-Dim!"

Pushing the door away, she let it tear from its hinges and fall at her feet with a thud before stepping inside carefully. Everything was a mess. Smoke clogged at the main room, assailing her nose, her eyes and her throat. Squinting to adjust her vision in the dim light, she waved her hand to dissipate the smoke around her and coughed at the dust. The air was hot and smelled like burnt wood.

Maeve surveyed the room closely. The kitchen table had crashed into the cabinet where all the herbs and potions were stored. The bookshelves had completely collapsed and what was left of the numerous bestiaries, magic and mythology books was sprawled on the floor in bits and pieces of half-burnt pages. In the heavy silence, glass and pottery shards crunched under her boots as Maeve took tentative steps in the chaos.

"Master Dim-Dim?" She called again, fear for her mentor gnawing at her mercilessly.

Clangs and thuds echoed in the room to her left—Dim-Dim's room. It sounded like someone was throwing stuff around and cursing at the same time. Cautiously, Maeve made her way to the door but had to duck as soon as she reached it because a lantern came flying out above her head.

As the glass shattered behind her on the floor, she anxiously peered inside the room. Her eyes went wide with relief. "Master Dim-Dim!"

The wizard was rummaging through an enormous chest, tossing things out frantically. His white robes were torn and stained with cinder and his hair was in such a dishevel state that it made him look like a mad man. He hadn't even heard her, or if he had, it appeared he had more important things to do than answer her.

Avoiding a few upside-down drawers in the middle of the room among a bunch of other debris, Maeve stepped up to him and gently touched his shoulder, concern colouring her voice as she coughed again because of the lingering cloud of smoke.

"Master Dim-Dim, are you alright?" she asked concernedly. "What happened?"

Shutting the chest closed with a grunt and a curse, the wizard spun to his feet and darted passed her hurriedly, shooting her a quick, alarmed glance. "I'm alright, child, but you must leave at once!" he declared agitatedly as he strolled back into the kitchen.

"What? What are you talking about?" Maeve frowned in confusion, following after him and trying her best not to stumble on anything on the floor. She watched as he began storming through the wreckage in the kitchen, shoving the splintered table away to access the bottom of the cabinet.

"A dark storm is gathering on the horizon, Maeve, but because of the curse keeping me trapped in this realm I am powerless to play a part in it. You'll have to go without me," he quickly explained while he took out a large box incrusted with yellow beads, opened it, and then tossed it away impatiently.

"Go? Go where?" Maeve asked again as she grimaced over the foul acrid scent in the air.

Dim-Dim shot to his feet again, crossed over to the kitchen counter that was miraculously intact and started opening the drawers one by one. "To the Island of Kalladrell, in the village of Denwood. You need to go to him."

"Who?" Maeve puzzled, baffled by what he was doing and what he was saying.

"A very old friend of mine, Jacob, a prophet," Dim-Dim answered her over his shoulder, intently focused on his task as he continued to fumble through the drawers. "I was speaking with him only seconds ago but our connection was violently severed. His village is under attack and if something happens to him before you get to him, then the spirits have mercy on all our souls." He wheeled on his feet and strolled past her back into his room, only stopping briefly to look her in the eyes with sharp worry in his voice. "A grave prophecy has been set into motion."

Maeve stared back at him, completely clueless and growing more and more alarmed by his cryptic babble. She tried to piece together what he was telling her but it simply didn't make sense. "Master Dim-Dim, slow down," she said, following after him. "What are you talking about? What prophecy?"

The wizard crouched down at the side of his bed and stretched an arm under it. As he let his fingers grope at the forgotten objects resting there, he looked up at her. "One that says that a great evil will sweep across Jacob's land after the three coasts are set ablaze and the hills begin to burn, announcing the release of the Belrok."

"The Belrok? What is that?" Maeve asked as she stepped over a broken bowl of pottery and frowned down at him.

"A beast from the Wikken Hells," Dim-Dim answered her, his brow drawing down gravely. "A vile creature that can only be summoned by a Djin Lord."

"A Djin Lord?" Maeve repeated blankly, having never heard the term before.

Dim-Dim's head disappeared under the bed. "A wizard whose soul is as pitch-black as death itself, like Turok." His head reappeared and as he sat on his knees, he uttered yet another curse, his acute eyes scanning the room in a calculated manner.

As Dim-Dim's words slowly began to sink in, Maeve blinked at him in confusion and shook her head at a complete loss. "Hold on, I don't understand," she began, trying to sort everything out. "First, you take me away from the real world because I'm supposedly too vulnerable to face the dark forces at work…" She took a step in his direction and leaned forward to look him straight in the eye, touching a finger to her chest. "…and now you want to send me back to fight off this evil beast? Alone?"

To Maeve, this was beginning to sound like a very bad joke.

Dim-Dim shook his head and winced. "I'm sorry, Maeve, I wish I had more time to explain, but the lives of hundreds of thousands of innocent people are at stake."

"Hundreds of thousands?!" Maeve exclaimed. "You said Jacob lived in a village!"

Dim-Dim suddenly shot up to his feet and dashed for his nightstand. It was lying on its side, the wooden top half torn away. He opened the little cabinet and rummaged through it as he spoke gravely. "Maeve, this one prophecy will set many others into motion and it is crucial that everyone plays their part, or else it will trigger a series of events that have the potential of plunging mankind into an era of destruction and put a definite end to the world as we know it."

Maeve swallowed hard as shivers of growing dread rippled on her skin. She didn't like it when he spoke like that, with this _end-of-the-world_ edge in his voice. It made the fine hair on the back of her neck stand on end. She could tell by the desperate alertness in his eyes that something was terribly wrong and it scared her, and if Dim-Dim was scared, then everybody should be.

He pulled out several items from the cabinet and finally let out a sharp, satisfied "Ah!" when his fingers wrapped around a small leather pouch. "I've been saving this for emergencies. I guess now is the time to use it." He gripped the pouch securely in his hand and grabbed her arm with the other, ushering her out of the room. "Come, we must not lose another minute."

He urgently led her into the kitchen and back outside into the sunlight, their feet crunching panels of wood and shards of glass as they walked amidst the debris from the explosion.

"Wait," Maeve protested as he led her a few yards away from the house, on the sandy path that led to the beach while blind hope flared up inside her chest. "How will I be able to contact the crew?"

Under the bright sunshine of dawn, Dim-Dim finally released her arm and turned to her, his features suddenly softening as his eyes took on a sad glint that didn't escape Maeve's notice. The alarm in his voice smoothened for a moment. "You'll know when the time is right to see them again."

Maeve frowned at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Dim-Dim avoided the question and looked down at the leather pouch he was holding. He worked the strings loose and took out the object it was containing. It was a small glass vial, shaped like a raindrop and with no cork at all, the glass simply sealing itself off. Inside was a sparling silver liquid that looked like melted stars. It was magic for sure, but Maeve had never seen anything like it before.

"This is a travel vial," Dim-Dim explained as he held up the vial in front of her by the tip. "It can take you anywhere you want to go. You simply have to shatter it at your feet and think about the place you wish to travel to."

Maeve blinked back at him, the little vial sparkling between their faces. "What?" she asked incredulously, not believing what she was hearing.

"Here," he said, taking her hand to press the vial into her palm and close her fingers around it. "You need to use it now to reach the village of Denwood in Kalladrell, to find Jacob and-"

"Dear spirits," Maeve gasped, yanking her hand away and taking a step back in shock. She stared down at the magical object she was holding and then back up at Dim-Dim. "If you had this all along, why on earth didn't you use it to break free from this cursed realm!?"

Dim-Dim linked his fingers together in front of him and calmly looked at her. "Because I was saving it for a moment like this."

"A moment like this?" Maeve echoed disbelievingly. "Master Dim-Dim, you could have escaped this horrible place with this thing! You could have been free all this time!"

He held up a hand to quiet her. "I already tried, Maeve. I had two more of those vials with me when Turok's demon cursed me to this realm. I used the first two a long time ago but it didn't work. I'm afraid the magic of my curse is too strong to counter with simple magic such as this." He pointed to the glass raindrop in her hand.

"What makes you think it will work for me?" Maeve asked, still in shock.

"Because I was the one cursed, not you," he said quietly. "The travel vial will take you where you need to go. You just have to think of the island of Kalladrell and the village of Denwood and the magic will do the rest."

Maeve lowered her eyes and glanced at the sparkling silver liquid in her hand. She didn't like this. She didn't like this at all. This was all happening way too fast and he had averted her previous question about the crew. Why couldn't she go to them right now instead?

She pressed her lips together, her brown eyes darting down to the beach while her fingers absently toyed with Sinbad's red bandanna around her wrist. She searched the horizon where the white sails of the Nomad would never appear, and her thoughts wandered to the dangerous predicament she was about to jump into.

It just didn't make sense. Merely two weeks ago she had been separated from the crew in an awful storm and forced into hiding, and now she was already going back. "This doesn't feel right…" Her voice trailed off. She shook her head as her eyes went back to him.

Dim-Dim looked at her, offering her a pained smile. His small blue eyes lingered on hers, as if he was trying to find the right words to say. He took a step towards her and extended a hand to squeeze her arm gently. "I'm sorry you have to bear this burden, Maeve," he said softly. "I wish I had more time to explain, but you will understand everything soon, I promise."

Maeve looked at her mentor, at the look in his eyes that bore the weight of goodbyes, definite goodbyes, and she couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that was knotting into a ball inside her. "What aren't you telling me?" she asked him, holding his blue gaze with quiet intent.

Master Dim-Dim let go of her arm and averted her scrutinizing eyes, glancing down at the waves distantly crashing on shore. "Hard times lie ahead," he said gravely, losing himself in his thoughts as the morning sun illuminated his features. "I don't know the exact nature of the struggles you will have to face but I pray you will find the strength in your heart to overcome them. And remember," he brought his eyes back to hers. "Everything happens for a reason."

Maeve felt her heart tighten in her chest at these words. She didn't believe in this maxim anymore. Not since the storm had stolen her away from the Nomad.

In the bright sunshine of dawn, she felt lost in the dark. Since that horrible night, it was as if her own fate had been ripped out of her hands.

But even if her whole world seemed to be crumbling down, she trusted Master Dim-Dim. She trusted he would never send her into harm's way voluntarily, unless innocent lives were at stake and he believed she could help save them. She trusted his judgment. She trusted him with her life. And after everything he had done for her, she couldn't refuse what he was asking her to do.

"I can't leave you like this," she said upsettingly, throwing a glance over her shoulder at their ruined little house. "Let me help you with-"

"I'll be just fine," he smiled reassuringly, cutting her off with a dismissive gesture, but Maeve knew better. His powers were weakening a little bit more every day because of Turok's curse. It was like putting a candle under a glass jar and watching as it slowly dimmed away, the fire burning out until there was no air left to feed on. That's what this cursed place was doing to him and had started doing to her.

And now she was about to leave him here, all alone again. It crushed her but she knew there was no point in arguing with him about it. However, she made a silent vow that she would fulfill her mission no matter what, and when she was done she would contact the crew and together they would find a way to free him once and for all.

"I'll do everything I can to help your friend, Master Dim-Dim, I promise," she said determinedly, sending him a thin-lipped smile.

Dim-Dim nodded sadly and smiled one last time in return. "May the good spirits protect you, child," he blessed her, touching his fingers to her cheek like a loving father.

Swallowing hard to stifle the cold feeling of dread that was quietly squeezing her heart, Maeve took a step back, and after casting one last look at the glittering ocean, she shattered the vial at her feet.


	6. Counting the Days

[](https://imgur.com/WkVi8A8)

**Chapter 2 – Counting the Days**

He didn't even know how the brawl had started but his two opponents were angry, so angry it was almost comical to watch their red faces contort in frustration, and Sinbad took a guilty pleasure in provoking that rage in every possible way.

Swords collided in the air, in that chorus of distinctive chimes, and it was music to his ears. A strike here, a punch there; Sinbad knew the steps of the dance by heart, and on any normal day he would have been bored by the quarrel, but not today. Today, it felt good.

As he waltzed with his clumsy rivals on the white rooftops overlooking the market square below, Sinbad didn't miss any opportunity to toy with the men, offering cheeky insults and smug advice on where to strike and whistling as if the duel was a piece of cake. Everything he said and did kindled the fury of his opponents who renewed their attacks with more ferocity but Sinbad easily deflected all of their assaults one by one, each time adding a little bit more strength than was needed to bring the men down.

The fight was energizing and liberating, like a long-awaited release.

Ever since Maeve had fallen overboard, he had been restless to punch something, to get into a good bar brawl to unleash the suffocating frustration inside him. It was two weeks now, sixteen days to be exact, since she had left, but it felt like so much longer, as if years had passed since he had last seen her that night in her cabin before the storm had hit. It was no wonder that when the Nomad had made port in this little town he had been so far down on the edge of madness that he had jumped into trouble the minute it presented itself.

To think that when he had held her in his arms two weeks ago, right after she had openly admitted to being scared about all the strange shifts occurring in magic, he had told her that everything would be alright.

He couldn't have told her a bigger lie. Everything was far from being alright.

As one of his opponents charged again, Sinbad countered the strike and punched the man hard in the jaw, releasing a surge of anger in the blow. He hit the man so hard it painfully echoed in his knuckles but he quickly numbed the feeling by delivering a well-aimed kick.

When the gruff ruffian leered at him, Sinbad shook the pain out of his hand and with a snappy reply of his own before their swords met again, he side-stepped and elbowed the thug in the back, right on time to block the swing of his other opponent, grip his wrist and flip him over.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Rongar was watching him from down below while savoring a fruit, and he wondered if he and the others had noticed their captain's growing edginess in the last few days. If they had, they hadn't addressed it and Sinbad was glad. He didn't think he would ever be able to openly speak about Maeve anytime soon.

The only other person who seemed to be indulging in the fight was Doubar, and Sinbad wondered if his brother was using the quarrel as a therapeutic activity like him or if he was only trying to show some sort of solidarity. Either way, Sinbad was thankful. It made him feel not quite so alone in his unbearable grief.

Feeling a satisfactory smile stretch his lips as he watched his brother shove a man towards Rongar who then sent him splashing in a trough, Sinbad gladly returned to his own fight.

"Up here!" he tapped his cheek and jumped back as his opponent tried to slash him across the middle. "No, up here!" Sinbad indicated again while the other man repeated the same pointless strike. "Come on, you can do better than that!"

Sinbad deflected the man's sword again and kicked him, one to send him down a narrow staircase between the buildings, two to drive him back towards the edge of the landing that opened up to the market place below, and three to send him flying down into a pile of hay.

Before his adversary could crawl out of the straw though, Sinbad jumped out of the opening as well and gripped the swinging load of provisions hanging in a net above the street. He let go and landed swiftly on his feet, ready to meet the fury of his fuming rival.

"I'll carve you in two!" the man growled, his colorless shirt covered in straws of hay.

"So you keep saying," Sinbad baited him once more, enjoying the rush of blood in his body.

The man charged again but Sinbad ducked out of the way, allowing the sword to carve a melon in two for Firouz and Bryn to enjoy, while Doubar shoved his own opponent face-first into the same pile of hay.

It felt good.

It felt normal, as if nothing had changed at all.

But Maeve wasn't there. Everything had changed.

Her fiery head of hair was nowhere in sight. She wasn't by the jewelry stand admiring the fine work of artists as they displayed their beautiful necklaces and earrings and pendants and rings. She never bought such things but she loved looking at them anyway.

She wasn't by the clothing stalls either, running her fingers on scarves and cloaks and dresses, feeling their soft textures and studying their pretty floral patterns.

She wasn't crouched down with a group of children with a loving smile on her face, letting them pet Dermott tentatively with their tiny hands.

She was gone.

Sixteen days and Sinbad was already losing his mind.

Reaching his wits' end, he swung his sword at his opponent, throwing him off balance, then grabbed a fistful of the man's shirt on his back and angrily pushed him against the stone ledge besides Rongar, pressing his head down on a sack of grain.

Sixteen days and he feared how many more days he would have to count before he could see her again.

And then his bracelet glowed.

Sinbad stared down at the rainbow pattern and felt his heart skip a beat. The only moments his bracelet glowed was when danger was lurking close by or when someone was in trouble, or to conjure up magic he didn't control nor understand.

"Enough fun, I've got to go," he muttered as he released the man's head.

Hundreds of questions began colliding in his head, but his opponent wasn't done with their confrontation yet.

"I'll kill you," he threatened with a growl.

Sinbad ducked as the man flung his arm around, and promptly kneed him in the stomach to drive the wind from his lungs. Then he grabbed the man by his tuff of blond hair, wheeled him around and looked him straight in the eye as the man winced in pain.

"Happy landing," Sinbad warned before he rammed the hilt of his sword in the man's face, sending him crashing into a table behind which split in half with a clatter of broken glass as the bowls displayed on its surface shattered on the ground.

"Everyone, grab your things! We're setting sail!" Sinbad called out to the crew, his pulse already racing along with his thoughts as he tried to figure out what the call of his bracelet meant. In the back of his mind he was hoping beyond hope that it was Master Dim-Dim, but he knew better than let himself be fooled by such a little spark of colorful light.

His mentor had snatched Maeve away from him, he wouldn't just give her back to him after merely sixteen days.

"Sinbad," Doubar warned carefully as Sinbad strolled towards him.

Noticing his brother glancing at something behind him over his shoulder, Sinbad turned around and saw his angry rival standing up from the debris of the smashed table and charging him with both arms raised above his head to cleave him in two with his blade.

But Sinbad had had enough. He had released enough of the pent-up frustrations inside him and this fight was over, so he side-stepped at the last second and sliced through the net holding the load of the provisions he had previously swung down from. The content crashed down on the raging man, burying and pinning him on the ground for good where he wouldn't get up again anytime soon.

Doubar's thunderous laugh rang in the market square as Sinbad sheathed his sword.

"Where are we headed?" Firouz asked as he trotted after him along with the others.

Sinbad felt a twinge in his heart. "Wherever fate takes us." He tapped his bracelet and strolled past the scientist, heading out of the market square and back to the docks.

"I don't understand. Why are we leaving?" Bryn inquired with a puzzled frown as she caught up with him.

Sinbad raised his wrist again as an answer. "It glowed. It usually means someone is in trouble."

"That's strange." She looked down at her own bracelet. "Mine didn't do anything."

"I stopped asking questions about that bracelet of his a long time ago," Doubar commented from the rear.

"Maybe it's a call from Master Dim-Dim?" Firouz proposed hopefully, obliviously twisting the knife deeper into the wound.

Sinbad looked in the distance as the main mast of the Nomad slowly rose in the sky as they neared the docks, his heartrate accelerating in anticipation as he quietly wrestled with himself not to hope in vain for the impossible. "We're about to find out."

Right now, there was nothing else to do but follow the magical call back to where it was beckoning him, and in the meantime, as much as he tried to block the memory while his hand absently reached for the golden pin in his pocket, his mind took him back to the last time his bracelet had glowed…

" _I was beginning to wonder where you had gone off to," Sinbad said quietly as he approached her on the beach, the sunset casting a soft golden glow on her tormented face._

_She was sitting with her legs stretched out before her in the sand, her back resting against a rock covered in green moss, her broadsword planted in the sand off to the side, and her fingers were curled around the neck of a bottle of ale._

_She looked up at him when she heard him, her lips curving in a small smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I didn't really have a festive mood to begin with," she said sadly, not even trying to put up a mask to pretend she was fine._

_Sinbad winced inwardly at her words, feeling a pang of sorrow for her._

_Back onboard the Nomad earlier that day she had confided in him about Rumina's survival despite the explosion. She had been crushed that their attempt to defeat her had once again failed, and her painful disappointment had crushed him twice over. He had held her in his arms, softly rocking her as Skull Mountain crumbled down in the distance and the others cheered victoriously. And somehow, she had found the strength to see the glass half full, cheering herself up to celebrate their victory even if he knew she probably wanted nothing more than to excuse herself to mourn her loss quietly, away from an oblivious crowd indulging in pointless festivities._

_He had done his best to keep her company during the evening, to offer her every small gesture of compassion he could think of to give her the support he knew she needed but would never admit, like touching her shoulder when he would get up to fetch more food, or press his hand at the small of her back as they wandered through the joyful streets, or smile at her when their eyes locked during a conversation with random villagers._

_But despite his vigilance, somewhere half-way during the party she had managed to slip away from him, and he knew that at that point her gloomy reality had caught up with her to drag her down, pushing her somewhere he couldn't catch her._

_He had given her an hour before he started looking for her, an hour to brood things over in the comforting solitude he knew she needed, but an hour had been the longest he could bear, his worry for her slowly driving him over the edge until he could stand it no longer._

_He had excused himself to Aptor and told the crew he was going for a walk to stretch his legs, and when his boots had hit the beach's sand, Dermott's gentle flap of wings in the sky had guided him straight to her._

_Sinbad unsheathed his sword and planted it in the sand next to hers, then he lowered himself down to sit beside her against the large moss-covered rock. "That won't help you, you know," he said, pointing at the bottle she was balancing on her thigh._

" _I know," she replied blankly, avoiding his eyes. "But it numbs the pain for a while."_

_He felt his heart break a little bit again as she lifted the bottle and took a sip, and he wished he could erase the crushing sadness in her distant gaze. He hesitated a moment before speaking, watching the rolling waves gently crashing on shore a couple of yards in front of them. Then after a few moments of heavy silence, he softly found his voice. "You don't have to carry that pain alone, Maeve. I'm here."_

_She didn't look at him, her eyes instead riveted to the ocean as if to steel herself, and the ongoing quiet debate in her head once again ended with her shaking her head sadly. "It's my burden to bear. Not yours."_

_Sinbad opened his mouth to gently protest but she quickly turned to face him and cut him off._

" _Not yet." She looked at him then, a mixture of guilt and sorrow in her deep brown eyes, silently apologizing for not being able to tell him the secret he wished she could trust him with, and silently pleading him to simply drop the subject for tonight._

_Sinbad held her gaze, suppressing the urge to voice his latest theories on that painful secret she was guarding while the feeling of helplessness once again washed over him. Having no other choice with her looking at him so sadly, he nodded and obliged to her request. "Well, in that case," he declared, his hand stretching out to steal the bottle from her grasp and bringing it to his lips so he could at least share the pain with her, no matter if she wanted him to or not._

_He could tell she was glad though when a little genuine smile stretched her lips and he handed her back the bottle. She drank again, sealing their silent agreement, and then they both gazed at the swaying waves before them, letting the silence engulf them in a comforting bubble while the sunset offered them a stunning view with a myriad of soothing colors._

_Sinbad felt like he could stay right here in this very spot forever, with her by his side. The moment was far from being perfect considering the sad circumstances of the situation, but all those crushing moments he collected with her were tragically beautiful and he wouldn't trade them for anything in the world. For better or for worse, his place was right here with her._

" _I'll tell the others about Rumina when we're back at sea," she said quietly, yanking him out of his thoughts. "At least they'll be able to enjoy the feeling of victory a little bit longer."_

_Saddened by her words, Sinbad coated his voice with reassurance. "They'll be just as motivated as I am to keep on trying to defeat her once and for all."_

_She smiled, and he could see she was battling to erase the sorrow in her eyes so he wouldn't see it. "You should be celebrating with them. You deserve it."_

" _So do you," he pointed out. "If it hadn't been for your fire power, those harpies would have mauled us back there."_

_She smiled again, accepting the credit he was giving her but quickly sharing it as well. "Perhaps, but I do recall Firouz saving the day with those Colossus…"_

" _True," Sinbad conceded. "But remind me to tell him he's got lousy timing."_

_Her eyes locked with his at his words, in one of those arresting moment when the world seemed to vanish and it was just the two of them._

_They both knew what he was referring to; that split of second when they had almost kissed, inches apart, right before the scientist had called them back to reality before it was too late._

_Sinbad's heart ached to rewind time and go back to that moment, his eyes drifting down to her lips at the memory, her own eyes drifting to his._

_But then she caught herself and quickly averted her gaze. "You don't have to stay here to keep me company," she said, clearing her throat. "I'm sure there's a line-up of girls waiting to dance with you at the party."_

_Sinbad watched as she retreated back into her shell, wondering why she always needed him to remind her that all the other girls didn't matter to him. "I don't feel like dancing. Not when the person I want to dance with is spending the evening with a bottle of cheap ale."_

" _Cheap but strong," she replied, still not looking at him. "You should be at the party. They'll expect you to be there."_

_At her second insistence that he should leave her alone, he took a breath and decided to opt for another method. "If you really want me to go, I'll go."_

_She looked at him this time, caught off guard by the fact that the decision was now hers to make and not his, and she quickly tried to retreat behind her mask of strength and independence to dodge the choice and hand it back to him. "I'm a big girl, Sinbad. I'll be fine."_

_But Sinbad wouldn't let her. "I know." And he tilted his head to catch her eye before she could look away again. "I'm asking you whether you want me to leave or not," he said carefully, hoping he wouldn't lose her behind those walls she was so good at erecting around herself to keep him out. "Because there's no place I'd rather be."_

_He wouldn't retreat this time. In the past year whenever she pushed him away with her stubborn pride, he suspected that half the time what she really wanted was for him to stay, and too often he had not, simply walking away to give her the space he thought she needed instead._

_But this time he wouldn't. Not unless she clearly told him she wanted him to go, and not just because she was pretending to be tough._

_She held his gaze for a long moment, losing herself in his eyes as if she wanted nothing more than to lean into him so he could hold her, and he could almost see her defenses crumbling down, one by one as she let them go, until she finally whispered an answer. "I'll take a rain check on that dance…"_

_It wasn't the answer he had been hoping for. His heart sank. But he had wanted her to make a choice and she had; she really wanted to be left alone after all, and he couldn't refuse it to her now._

" _Alright then," he yielded, smiling sadly while he quietly began to harden himself up to return to the festivities which he no longer had any desire to join._

_But when he pushed himself away from the moss-colored rock to stand up, her hand slipped in his to hold him back._

"… _but I don't want you to go."_

_He looked back at her, searching her eyes, and he saw it instantly, clear as water._

_She wanted him to stay. With her. And he felt his heart swell and break at the same time, because while it meant she was trusting him with her vulnerability, it also meant that the quiet sorrow she was battling was actually way more painful than he originally thought it was._

_He settled back against the rock by her side, and instinctively opened his arm out for her, circling it around her shoulders protectively. She molded against him right away, nestling in his embrace and lowering her head in the crook of his neck, and he held her without a word, his thumb gently massaging her shoulder._

_Neither of them needed to speak now. There was just the ocean and the waves, and the sinking sun in the distance disappearing below the horizon in an explosion of golden fiery colors, while the rest of the sky slowly faded in different shades of pale and dark blues. An eternity could have passed and he wouldn't have noticed._

" _Do you really believe everything happens for a reason?" she asked him softly._

" _Depends on what happens I guess," he replied, pondering on Master Dim-Dim's favorite maxim. "We've seen our fair share of suffering in our travels; evil oppression, poverty, sickness, war…There shouldn't be a purpose for all that."_

" _I wish Rumina's path had never crossed mine," she spoke again tiredly, the crushing sadness returning in her voice. "But then none of this would have happened. I never would have met Dim-Dim and embarked on the Nomad…" She paused, her hand absently reaching for his in his lap, warm and light. "I never would have met you."_

_The unexpected gesture touched him to the core, his heart swelling, and he instantly gave her hand a gentle squeeze in return. It was the second time today she was reaching for his hand like that. The first time had been earlier on the Nomad after the explosion of Skull Mountain, right after their embrace when she had momentarily held his hand, lingering in the intimacy of the moment as if seeking comfort from his touch a little bit longer. But she had quickly caught herself before the awkwardness could settle in, suggesting that they joined the others to celebrate their small victory, even if she had no desire to._

_But she didn't catch herself this time. This time she simply held his hand, softly running her thumb over his knuckles without any embarrassment, and he suspected she was simply too exhausted to care._

" _I don't know what to wish for anymore," she spoke again defeatedly, her voice drifting off over the rolling waves._

_Heartbroken, Sinbad laced his fingers through hers. "You can wish for the future," he replied softly, leaning his head down to speak against her forehead. "I'm sure it has a lot of wonderful things left in store for us."_

_He felt her smile against him. "I hope so."_

_Then slowly, her fingers began to dance with his, lacing and unlacing, caressing, feeling, as if she was trying to engrave every little detail of his touch in her mind. His own hand responded with the same tenderness, feeling, brushing, grazing, losing himself in the silk of her skin and its warmth, and he realized that this right now was one of the most intimate moments they had ever shared since their single kiss a few months ago, which had been a relieved impulse out of the blue whereas their current bubble of intimacy was something deliberate._

_It had never occurred to him before, but as he watched their fingers entwined together tenderly, he realized that hands were pretty much one of the most intimate body parts. Lips were definitely intimate, but hands…hands were something entirely different, something much more special._

_Hands were literally a person's main tools for everything, feeling, sensing, working. He used his hands everyday to sail the Nomad, to steer the tiller and tie knots, he used them to fight when he needed to, to clutch his sword and ball them into fists to punch his opponents, he used them to eat, to write, to share, to protect..._

_He did everything with his hands, but it was only seldom that he touched somebody else's hands, except when it was to welcome an amiable shake or bid a safe farewell. And yet here he was, touching Maeve's hand for neither of those reasons, a hand she used to pet Dermott, to conjure up magic, to brush her hair, a hand that was now protectively snuggled up in his, their fingers toying and feeling each other, and he felt incredibly lucky to have that privilege, his heart painfully swelling._

_As they silently watched the purple sunset with its myriad of colors ripping the distant sky, he wished he could somehow freeze the moment in time so it could last forever, but then he felt Maeve's hand slowly slip from his grasp and travel up to his wrist, the tip of her fingers grazing his bracelet as she studied the subtle hues of colors._

" _I really wish I could crack the mystery behind this thing," she said absently, her mind leaving its gloomy confines to latch on to something else distractingly._

" _That makes two of us," he replied, glancing down at the curious piece of jewelry that had appeared on his wrist about three years ago, when he'd woken up on a deserted island after a nasty storm had sunk he and Doubar's previous ship. He still couldn't explain what had happened that night, but he was glad the mystery of his bracelet was diverting Maeve's thoughts from today's hardships._

" _I can't believe Dim-Dim never told you anything about it," she mused out loud. "Surely, he must have known something…"_

" _Perhaps," he shrugged, silently aching to hold her hand again. "When I asked him about it on the Isle of Dawn he simply said that everything happens for a reason."_

_She snarled at the typical wizard-like response. "Of course." Then she paused, her head tilting to the side in puzzlement as she took a closer look at his wrist. "Does it always do that?"_

" _What?" He lifted his wrist to take a better look at where she was pointing, noticing for the first time the tiny ripples of white light moving through the usual set of colors. "I've never seen those before," he observed curiously, the frown on his face deepening when the strange ripples vanished right after Maeve removed her fingers. "I think you're doing that."_

" _What?" Sitting up straighter, she took his wrist again to take a second look at his bracelet, the soft ripples of light returning instantly to surf amidst the colors. She looked completely clueless and fascinated at the same time. "How curious…"_

" _Any idea?" Sinbad lifted an eyebrow._

_Maeve shook her head in thought. "Maybe my magic is triggering some sort of response…" She studied his bracelet more closely, testing the correlation between the withdrawal of her touch and the disappearance of the ripples, and their return when her fingers grazed the colorful surface again._

_Silently pondering on the same possibility, Sinbad could unfortunately offer no further enlightenment on the matter. As far as he could remember, Maeve had already often racked her brain on the significance of his bracelet back in the first few days when she had become a part of his crew, asking questions and searching for answers in her books, but he was pretty sure she had never actually touched his bracelet directly like she did just now, which was probably why they had never witnessed the curious white ripples before._

_He had absolutely no idea what they could possibly mean, and while this new mystery prodded many questions in his head, right now he was just glad it was keeping her mind busy._

" _Why would it do that?" He asked, fueling her interrogations to occupy her. "When I showed it to Master Dim-Dim a year ago, nothing happened. Why would it react only to you?"_

" _That's a good question," she replied, lost in thoughts of her own, still intently focused on the colorful canvas of his bracelet until she decidedly sat back a little and stared hard at it._

_The concentration on her face almost comical, Sinbad nearly chuckled amusingly. "What are you doing?"_

" _Testing if I can somehow activate it without touch," she explained, slightly straining her eyes in the effort, although she clearly looked like she had no clue what she was supposed to do. After a few seconds when nothing happened despite her efforts, she simply threw him a look. "Maybe you're doing it."_

_Sinbad chuckled for real this time, with a tint of sarcasm in his voice. "Right, because I'm so competent in the art of magic."_

" _Who knows?" Maeve insisted optimistically. "You did magic before. Those rune stones you used in the City of Mist, or when you turned Goz back into his human form..."_

" _The bracelet did magic," he corrected. "I did nothing."_

_She grew silent then, her attention subtly shifting, and Sinbad watched as her eyes darted back to the beach where a familiar flap of wings fluttered from one rock to another by the waves. Before he could do anything though, he saw her fall back into the gloom of her thoughts and he cursed himself for not being fast enough to catch her on time._

_Following her gaze to Dermott's small form in the distance, he knew exactly where her thoughts had retreated to, and as he looked down at his bracelet regretfully, he once again wished he could sweep her sorrow and her grief away._

" _I'm sorry I can't turn him back," he said softly, earning himself a startled look as both surprise and shock stamped themselves on her features._

_Sinbad knew his words were bold and that he was threading on a dangerous edge, but the thing was that he had been suspecting the truth about Dermott ever since the beginning, ever since the day he had defeated Turok. Back then, everyone had been convinced that Rumina had perished as well during the stony collapse of the Isle of Tears, but Maeve had sadly assured him of her survival by vaguely indicating that Dermott was still his own self._

_Right then he hadn't known what she meant, and he had twisted her words in his head over and over again, trying to decipher the hidden meaning behind them, and the only conclusion he had come up with was that Dermott was more than he appeared to be, and that given the chance when Rumina was finally defeated, his appearance would somehow magically change. Change into what he didn't know, but a human being sounded like a pretty good guess considering how Maeve treated the loyal hawk._

_His theory had then later been reinforced when the crew rescued him from Rumina's lair and he told them the tale of how his bracelet had miraculously freed Goz from the curse Rumina had cast upon him. Maeve's reaction had been quite revealing that night, even if she had worked hard not to let her composure slip. She had showered him with precise questions, asking how exactly he had managed to break the spell and the part his bracelet had played in the process, and the look in her eyes when he then petted Dermott, the silent, eager expectation to see whether he could somehow repeat the prowess by casually touching him, followed by the crushing disappointment on her face when nothing happened…The others hadn't seen it that day, but all the subtleties of her behaviour had been confirmation that his theory was a good one; that Dermott was indeed a human being._

_He had long speculated on his real identity, wondering if he was a friend of Maeve's, her cousin, her brother, even a lover perhaps, but that was information only she could provide and he had no intention to pry for an answer at the moment. She had made it clear she had no desire to open up on the matter tonight and he wanted to respect that. He simply wanted her to know that his bracelet somehow refused to work on him, no matter how much he wished it. He knew she was already aware of that sad reality, but the spirits only knew how many more times he had attempted to make his bracelet work, on all those late-night shifts he had shared at the tiller with the hawk. But each time nothing had happened. It just seemed that no matter how much he wanted it, restoring Dermott to his true form was a gift he couldn't offer her._

_Eyes darting between the stunned look on her face, the bracelet on his wrist and Dermott's figure down the shoreline, he chose his next words carefully._

" _I don't know what happened, Maeve, and I don't know who he is, but I know Dermott is more than he appears to be." Feeling like he was trespassing on the secret she so protectively guarded, he avoided her gaze and instead regretfully lifted his wrist, glancing down at the mix of colors on his bracelet. "I've tried to use it on him," he admitted sadly. "multiple times, but it never worked. I'm sorry."_

_For a moment, the only sound that hung between them was the rolling of the waves as they crashed on the beach, gradually sucking the sand into the depth of the ocean with each new pull._

_Maeve simply stared at him, quietly registering his words and grasping everything they implied, and after shifting past her initial shock, somehow quietly acknowledging everything he had correctly figured out, she shook her head regretfully._

" _It's not your fault," she said desolately, dismissing his responsibility. "Some curses are more difficult to break, like this one it would seem, after all those years…"_

_Sinbad let out a small breath he didn't know he had been holding. She wasn't mad at him. He had just opened a door into the secrets of her life and she wasn't shutting it in his face. He knew it was a small victory to celebrate, but before he could even rejoice over his little accomplishment he saw her eyes seeking Dermott's figure down the shore line again, the sadness threatening to swallow her once more and he knew perfectly well that its heavy burden could result in her shooing him away from the threshold he had worked so hard to reach._

_But Sinbad would not yield this time. He had made it as far as the threshold and the door was finally open, even if just for a tiny crack, but it was enough for him to jam a foot in it, preventing her from closing it down._

_And so before the ghosts in her head could drag her down into haunting memories, he reached out to gently cup the side of her face and locked eyes with her resolutely, his thumb caressing her cheek. "We'll figure it out. Together."_

_Her eyes locked with his, latching on to his own resolve. "I know." And a little smile, a sweet, emotional, stubborn smile curved the corner of her lips, one that betrayed how truly glad she was to have him by her side at this very moment._

_Sinbad mirrored it instantly, and when she nestled in his embrace again and molded against his side, her head finding its place on his shoulder, her hand reaching for his in his lap and her fingers lacing through his unabashedly, he just knew that the door he had just opened wouldn't close anytime soon. He would make sure of it._

_Protectively, he wrapped his arm back around her shoulders to resume their previous intimate position and then settled back comfortably against the moss-colored rock behind him._

_The sun had finally set, disappearing below the horizon line to leave nothing but a faint halo of pink behind in its wake, while stars were beginning to twinkle high up in the darkening night sky above their heads._

" _In the meantime, we still have this puzzle to solve," Maeve said absent-mindedly as her fingers grazed his bracelet, eliciting the little ripples of sparkling white light against the colorful background._

" _Tomorrow," he replied, closing his eyes as he rested his head back on the rock and gave her hand a small squeeze._

" _Aye, aye, Captain."_

His grip on the tiller tightened as he tried to chase away the memory in his head, poorly succeeding at the task while the little twinge in his heart throbbed like an incessant dull pain.

That precious moment he had shared with her that evening would be carved in his memories forever, like writing etched in stones and which no amount of time or wind or rain could ever erase.

That night, after an entire year of building trust with her, he had finally managed to open the well-guarded door to her past, only to have the wicked storm cruelly rob him of its access a couple of days later. To have their relationship severed like that was unbearably unfair, and it filled him with a mix of rage and grief that dangerously threatened to tear him apart.

Hands and fingers softly entwined, they had been so emotionally close…

His thoughts were diverted from their tormenting course when he saw Bryn stepping up to the quarterdeck.

"Interesting way of picking a destination," she commented as she joined his side, her chin tilting to point at his bracelet that was still intermittently pulsing with bright colors every few minutes.

"There's no better guide than the wind of destiny," he replied, attempting a smile.

"Does is happen often?" she asked inquiringly, her interest in their shared piece of jewelry clearly obvious in her voice. "Your bracelet glowing like that?"

"Not really," Sinbad shrugged. "It's rather unpredictable. Sometimes it's a warning for trouble or a sign that someone needs help, and sometimes it just goes off to perform magic I don't understand."

Bryn frowned thoughtfully, gently touching the band of colors on her own wrist. "Maybe someone is calling for you. It would explain why mine didn't glow," she mused, a subtle veil of sorrow falling on her features. "It's never glowed actually; I don't know anyone…"

Sinbad's features softened as he glanced her way, at the emptiness behind her eyes as she tried to remember the pieces of her life, the people she might have known, the places she might have been, a black void of stolen memories.

Feeling helpless, he pointed at her bracelet in an attempt to steer her mood in another direction. "May I?"

Yanked out of her thoughts, she stepped closer with a nod and extended her wrist for him to inspect the mysterious piece of jewelry.

Sinbad adjusted his hold on the tiller and reached out to touch the colorful surface, exposing his own bracelet to her in the process, comparing their design. "They're pretty identical, don't you think?"

"Aye, pretty much," she agreed, her fingertips grazing the band on his wrist to confirm his words.

Sinbad held his breath; she was touching his bracelet, which was exactly what he had hoped she would do when he beckoned her closer to compare them.

With conflicting emotions dwelling inside him, he watched the colors attentively, anxiously waiting for what would happened next. A part of him was hoping the curious white ripples of light would sparkle to life, if only to prompt another brainstorm of hypothesis of what could possibly cause their appearance under the touch of magical practitioners, so that then perhaps together he and Bryn could figure out their significance. But on the other hand, an even bigger part of him, a part that was highly possessive and protective, was fervently hoping that nothing would happen.

He knew it was stupid, but so far Maeve's touch had been the only thing that could generate the glittering ripples and even if he had no clue what it all meant, he wanted it to stay that way. He couldn't quite place his finger on what was bothering him so much about other people also being capable of activating his bracelet, but he guessed it was because in his mind, the sparkling white lights had become deeply connected with the intimate evening he and Maeve had spent at the beach, and it seemed unimaginable to think that someone else might possess the ability to replicate that moment.

It belonged to her. To her and her only.

As his thoughts threatened to drift back to that bittersweet evening again, his hand silently ached on the tiller, his fingers longing for the feel of her skin, for the hand he had securely held, his fingers linked with hers.

Seconds wasted away while he fought the urge to shake the feeling out of his arm, his jaw clenching quietly, and then he realized that nothing was happening. Bryn's oblivious touch was having no success at eliciting the appearance of the mysterious white ripples, his bracelet remaining the same. Her touch had not even triggered the uniform glowing of colors that had begun to pulsate intermittently a few hours ago.

Sinbad quietly let out the breath he had been holding, relieved by the white lights' absence.

"Do you know what they are?" Bryn asked in puzzlement as she removed her hand from his wrist. "Where they come from and why we wear them?"

Sinbad shook his head regretfully. "I'm afraid not."

"But your friend, Dim-Dim, he never told you anything?" she pressed on.

"Nothing of consequence," he replied while the frustration he felt towards his mentor simmered inside him once again.

"That's unfortunate." Bryn looked down in disappointment.

"Sinbad!" Doubar suddenly appeared on deck, a roll of map clasped in his meaty hand as he climbed the three steps to the quarterdeck to join them. "Firouz believes he found our destination! It's-"

"Land ho!" With perfect timing, the sailor perched in the crow's nest called down.

"Let me guess," Sinbad began as his gaze followed the lad's arm who was pointing straight ahead at the outline of approaching land, while the colors on his bracelet glowed once more. "That island?"

Doubar turned around to take a look himself. "Aye, that would be Jakku Island."

"Perfect," Sinbad declared. "Prepare the longboat. I believe we have an appointment with destiny."

His bracelet glowed again almost in confirmation, and the twinge in his heart was back.

If someone really was calling for him, then there was only one person he desperately wanted to rescue.

But he already knew she wouldn't be there.


	7. Dodging Arrows

**Chapter 3 – Dodging Arrows**

Maeve drew in a breath, her eyes fluttering open. She winced against the harsh light and brought a hand up to shield her brow, blinking several times to adjust her vision. For a moment her entire mind was blank and her body felt numb and heavy, as if she'd been asleep for days.

She squinted past the bright light and saw a thick canopy of green leaves smiling down at her amidst patches of clear blue sky. The distant branches were swaying in the wind, the leaves ruffled by the breeze, and a few birds were calling and answering each other with happy little chirps. The quiet sounds of nature were sweet and the air smelled like pine trees, but still Maeve had trouble registering where she was, her mind foggy and slow.

Groaning in discomfort, she felt the hard ground underneath her, with a root digging in her lower back. She craned her neck to look around and a maze of trees welcomed her from all sides.

She was in the middle of a forest.

Grunting quietly again, she lifted herself up to a sitting position and slowly assessed her limbs for damage, all the while forcing the gears in her mind to start working again.

Her thoughts immediately latched on to the one person she instinctively used to anchor herself down: Sinbad. She wondered when she last saw him and the sudden spark of realization had the effect of a fist punch in the gut.

 _The storm_.

She hadn't seen Sinbad in two weeks.

Dim-Dim had whisked her away to his cursed prison, only to send her off again on a perilous mission.

Maeve felt her blood run cold, her thoughts roaring and colliding together. _The Island of Kalladrell. The village of Denwood. A vague prophecy about an upcoming evil. The prophet, Jacob. An attack conducted on his village._

Her nerves jolted with alarm like the mighty crack of a whip, a wild sense of urgency coursing through her like a lightening strike. In a flash she shot to her feet, her breathing quickening as her head spun around, her eyes surfing on her surroundings as utter confusion swelled inside her.

She was in the middle of nowhere. _Why was she in the middle of nowhere?_

The travel vial was supposed to take her exactly where she wanted to go so why hadn't she landed directly in Denwood in the middle of the attack in Jacob's village? Had something gone wrong with the magic? Had she not thought of Denwood hard enough for the vial to pick up on where she wanted to go? What if she wasn't even on the right island?

Maeve swallowed hard, fear creeping into her bones. The life of Dim-Dim's friend was at stake. She was supposed to find and protect this man. She had promised Dim-Dim that she would.

With her heart hammering in her chest, she looked around frantically, scanning every direction as she cursed under breath. She wasn't even close to any road. She was literally in the middle of nowhere, in a luxurious forest of tall green trees and well-furnished brambles of all sorts.

Mind racing, Maeve turned on her heels to try and determine which way to go. Time was ticking. She could pick a direction at random but what if it led her the wrong way? She would lose precious time then and she couldn't afford it. Straining her ears, she tried to listen for any sound that might be of help, like the rumble of a river she could follow inland or the distant rolling of cart wheels on a dirt road. But there was nothing but the sounds of isolated nature.

Glancing up at the tree tops and the dancing shafts of sunlight through the leaves, she guessed it was a little after dawn. Since she had left Dim-Dim around that same time, she figured the magical trip hadn't taken very long so maybe there was still time to save Jacob, but she knew she had to hurry nonetheless.

One thing was for sure; she couldn't stand there forever debating where to go. She had to move.

Cursing under her breath once more, and uttering a silent prayer as well for good measure, she broke into a run.

She plunged through the trees like a mad woman and raced ahead in the light green woods with a random heading, eyes flicking from side to side to spot anything that might indicate the presence of human life. Thoughts swarmed inside her head with all the possible worse case scenarios and right now there was nothing she could do to prevent any of them from coming true. All she could do was run. Run and pray she was heading in the right direction.

Jumping over a fallen sapling here and spitting out spider webs there, she zigzagged through the maze of pine trees with as much speed as she could, her mind soaring in every direction all at once as the sense of urgency threatened to overwhelm her.

She felt like one of Firouz's exploding sticks, seconds away before the fuse burned off and the blast occurred. It simply made no sense. _Where on earth was she? Where the hell was Denwood?_

Her clipped breathing and the thumping of her boots on the forest floor, crunching dry leaves and breaking twigs, were the only sounds she could hear as she ran on and on, weaving her way around rocks and roots, up and down soft rises and slopes in the dirt ground, and finding little comfort in the fact that the trees were spaced wildly enough to spare her the lashing of low branches.

Startled squirrels skittered up trunks and branches as she rushed past, her heart trashing in her ribcage. In the back of her mind she feared she would be too late but she angrily shrugged the terrible thought aside, pushing herself harder in her sprint and ignoring the growing stich at her side. _She couldn't fail. She simply couldn't._

As she side-stepped a jagged grey rock, distant roars of laughter suddenly reached her ears.

Maeve skidded to an abrupt halt, her eyes darting around the woods while her heart skipped a hopeful beat.

_Had she run in the right direction against all odds?_

She strained her ears to orientate herself amidst the trees, hurriedly following the voices while getting her wind back, her steps light and silent on the forest floor.

Peeking around a large tree, her gaze soon fell on the source of the crude hollers, and dread immediately soaked into her bones.

It wasn't a village under attack she had stumbled upon. It was a small caravan. A caravan of thieves by the looks of it.

In the middle of a small clearing, a band of rough-looking thugs wearing dark tousled clothes and black bandanas on their heads seemed to be inventorying their latest loot. Silver cups, bead necklaces, gold encrusted chests, silky scarves of every color, and much more was packed in the back of a wagon harnessed to two massive draft horses.

_The road._

Her eyes went wide in sudden realization.

If the thieves were travelling with a wagon then the road had to be close somewhere. All she had to do was circle around to the other side of the bandits' party and follow the wheel tracks back to the road. Maeve thanked the good spirits silently. She had run in the good direction.

"Well, well, well, what have we here?" A raspy voice called out.

Alarmed by the overt tone of the question, Maeve's attention quickly jumped from man to man. When she spotted who had spoken, her eyes locked with the gaze of a tall ruffian sporting a disheveled blond ponytail, standing by the wagon. He was looking straight at her across the clearing, a gruff smile stretching his lips.

Maeve's breath caught in her throat. As silence settled in the forest like a thick blanket, the rest of the gang's attention left the wagon's stolen rich goods and focused on her. Before she had time to react, the tall man snickered at his companions and pointed in her direction with the silver cup he was holding. "Looks like we're in luck, boys! Bonus merchandise!"

The thugs dropped their loot and started towards her, a woman's warmth probably worth twice the cold touch of stolen gold coins judging by the heated looks in their eyes.

Maeve didn't lose a minute and broke into a run again, hearing them shout in unison as they dashed after her to catch her. With a rough count, she estimated there were at least twenty of them. Those were bad odds for her, not to mention that they were all carrying swords and bows and she was completely weaponless against them, if not for the dagger lodged in her right boot. She could always resort to the use magic but she didn't know if that would scare them away or if it would only kindle their desire to capture her.

Zigzagging through the trees, Maeve ran as fast as she could with no idea where she was heading, quickly losing her bearings in her escape sprint. The thieves were rapidly closing in on her and she knew she had to make a stand before they encircled her completely.

_And she had to find the bloody road._

As she crashed through the thick shrubbery of a green bush, she stifled a scream as the ground suddenly disappeared under her feet and she felt herself falling through thin air, the coldness of water enveloping her a second later as she plunged head deep into a large pond.

Emerging with a gasp as the unexpected cold sensation clawed at her skin and her core, blinking droplets out of her eyes, she saw the thieves scurrying down the abrupt slopes on each side.

Muscles springing into action, Maeve kicked her legs and trudged her way out of the pond as soon as she found her footing on the slimy floor beneath her boots. Dripping wet, she rushed back on solid ground and broke into a run again, heading for the nearest rise to clamber out of this large ravine she had cornered herself into.

But she barely had time to make five steps on the rocky ground when a thief skidded down the slope and blocked her way, his hands spread apart as if he was about to try and tame a wild horse. He smiled a toothless smile before diving forward to grasp her but Maeve kicked him in the stomach and backhanded him across the face. He hadn't even hit the ground when two other ruffians appeared behind her, and quickly realizing what she was capable of, they purposefully unsheathed their swords before lunging to grab her as well, trying to sandwich her between them.

Luckily for her, since their primary aim was to capture her to enjoy what attributes she had to offer, the fight was much easier to tackle. As the first thug with a thick black beard tried to poke his blade at her mid-section to corner her towards his companion, Maeve simply side-stepped and kicked his wrist. The other ruffian, bald as an egg, used the opportunity to snatch her arm but she gripped his instead, twirled around and flipped him over her shoulder. The man landed hard on his back with the wind knocked out of him, while Maeve kicked the bearded man down again before he could pick up his fallen sword.

The duo was grunting in pain on the edges of the pond when another thief jumped into the fight with a battle cry. This time Maeve dove for her former opponent's blade lying on the ground and blocked her new attacker's assault just in time, the clash of steel ringing in the forest like chimes. The gruff man grinned at her evilly but Maeve easily deflected his next blow and rammed the hilt of her sword in his face, sending him careening backward into the pond with a heavy splash.

Not losing a second, she then turned around to resume her escape run but a meaty hand backhanded her across the face without warning, catching her by surprise. The blow sent a burning sting in her left cheekbone and she staggered to the side, losing her grip on her sword, but before her new aggressive attacker could touch her again Maeve thrust her knee up in his groin with all the strength she could muster and as he doubled over in pain, she elbowed him hard in the kidneys.

When the gruff man sprawled to the ground motionlessly, she took a second to press her fingers to her cheek to check if the bone was broken. She doubted it was, but her ear was still ringing from the unexpected strong impact.

Breathing hard and still wet as a fish, with droplets trickling from her hair, she glanced down at the stunned thieves wriggling in dazed pain on the ground, counting five of them, but then her attention alarmingly shifted when she caught sight of all the rest of the thieves as they appeared like dots at the top of the ravine, crowning its outline amidst the trees. Seeing their companions sprawled on the forest floor at her feet, they yelled in anger and yanked their bows free, most likely deciding that killing her was better than capturing her at this point, if only to avenge the pride of their fallen comrades, with the obvious conclusion that she was worth more trouble than pleasurable warmth.

As they cocked their arrows in place, Maeve hurriedly scurried away, circling around a small ridge for protection and then struggling to clamber up the slope to get out of the ravine. She could hear the thieves skittering down into the small gulley to chase after her, determined not to lose sight of their escaping target.

As soon as she reached the top of the slope and was back on the forest ground, Maeve broke into a run yet again, her heart hammering against her ribcage as the shouts from the band of ruffians echoed behind her, much too close to her liking.

She sprinted and crisscrossed in the woods and the green brambles, cautious not to lose her footing on any rock or root, and soon arrows were whistling past her in deadly swifts, splintering the bark of trees and sending chips of wood in the air.

Maeve cursed under her breath and hunched her shoulders, switching from a straight-line race to a zigzagging sprint through the wide-spaced trees.

_What on earth had she gotten herself into! She didn't have time to play cat and mouse with a band of outlaws!_

She raised an arm to cover her face as an arrow flashed past her, missing her shoulder by an inch.

_She had to get to Denwood! She had to find the road! She had to-_

A body crashed into her, heavy and snarling, knocking the wind from her lungs as they hit the ground hard.

The angry thief pinned her roughly under his weight, his meaty hands gripping her wrists before she could punch him in the face. He leered at her hungrily, his face inches from hers and his churning breath filling her nose as he trapped her arms on each side of her head.

Maeve wriggled under him furiously, trying to push him off as he buried his dirty face in her hair, her neck, sniffing at her and groaning in heated desire. She tried using her knees to buck him off but he was too strong, his hips pressing down on her like a mighty anchor that wouldn't budge.

But then he made the poor move to try and hold both her wrists with one hand, to allow the other one to roam free down her body to explore what she had to offer. It was the opening she needed. As soon as he lifted his face from the slope of her shoulder, Maeve head-butted him with all her might, breaking his nose. His grip on her wrists instantly loosened and she violently pushed him off of her.

The thief rolled over with a growl, clutching his bleeding nose while she hurriedly pulled herself up on her feet, shuddering at the thought of what he would have done to her. But there was no time to allow the dreadful feeling to settle in the pit of her stomach.

The rest of the caravan was aiming straight for her, shouts reverberating in the woods while fingers pointed to her location to guide the thrilling chase of the group, the men almost howling like a pack of hungry wolves.

Maeve's shoulders slumped down in frustration at the sight, but she had no choice except break into an escape run again, scampering amidst the trees with no idea where she was going and well aware that this stupid hunt couldn't go on forever. As she ducked under a low branch, magic trickled down to her fingertips, announcing the impending arrival of fireballs. _If this is what it took to get them off her tail then so be it._

_She had wasted enough time as it was. Jacob's life couldn't wait any longer._ _She had to find the village of Denwood, **now**. She had to-_

As she sprinted past a massive old tree, a strong hand suddenly gripped her arm and yanked her aside. Before she could even scream, callused fingers clasped over her mouth and an iron arm locked around her waist. As the man firmly pressed her against him, her back to his chest, he squeezed them both in the hollow trunk of the big tree while the rest of the thugs ran past them with angry roars, now chasing after an invisible prey.


	8. You're Welcome

**Chapter 4 – You're Welcome**

With her wet clothes sticking to her uncomfortably, Maeve could feel her heart thundering inside her chest as she tried to calm her labored breathing. The man she was pressed against was as silent as a grave. She could tell he was holding his breath, too, his own heart pounding against her back between her shoulder blades. The heat of his body was searing, a sharp contrast with the cold of her soaked outfit which suddenly sent a rippling shiver down her spine, but neither of them moved an inch for another long minute lest they betrayed their hiding spot.

When the battle cries of the thieves finally faded away in the distance and silence gradually returned to the forest, the man's iron grip around her waist loosened. His hand freed her mouth and he gently pushed her out of the trunk, glancing from side to side to check their surroundings for any remaining thugs.

The quietness of the woods was rather satisfying but still a sense of caution was evident in the tense lines of the man's features as he moved to grab her arm. "Come on, this way-"

Quick as a cat, Maeve yanked her arm free and backed away, unsheathing the dagger in her right boot to point the tip straight at him as a warning not to come any closer, her thoughts firing up inside her head like a mad lightening storm.

The man immediately halted in his step and froze on the spot, his body going rigid. "Whoa, easy, I'm not going to hurt you," he began carefully with a deep resonant voice, his hands going up in the air in a pacifying manner. "I just want to help. We need to go before they-"

"I'm not going anywhere with you," Maeve stated sharply, keeping her dagger aimed straight at him as the wheels in her head spun like a wild whirligig. "You could be one of them for all I know."

The man frowned at her for a moment, still as a statue, minus the slight quirk of an eyebrow. "Do I look like I'm one of them?"

Maeve studied him attentively, utterly unable to formulate an answer. Her thoughts were simply racing in her head like fire catching on oil. "Where am I?"

The man blinked back at her in complete puzzlement. "What?"

"This place," Maeve repeated with a frustrated sigh, sounding almost desperate for an answer as she glanced around briefly. "This island. Where am I?"

The man frowned again, confusion etching itself on his face. "You're on the Island of Kalladrell...you-"

His words were drowned by a sudden duo of battle growls thundering behind them. Head whipping around, Maeve spotted two of the thieves she had just knocked down minutes ago, the black bearded one and his bald companion, racing towards them with their blades drawn in blind rage.

She braced herself to parry the attack but in a flash, the mysterious man unsheathed his sword and stepped in front of her to shield her, taking the blow as the first thug threw himself at him. Maeve watched as he blocked and deflected the assault with effortless precision and rapidity, then swiftly moved to counter the attacks of the second ruffian.

She briefly considered seizing the opportunity to flee, but her body refused to move as she watched the stranger fight, his broadsword arcing in the air and ringing with every clash. She simply stood frozen, witnessing the battle while her dagger slowly lowered at her side until the two thugs were both lying motionlessly on the ground.

When silence returned again in the forest, completely unfazed, the man slipped his sword back into its scabbard and turned to her again.

"We need to go, _now_ ," he spoke urgently, although maintaining a safe distance between the two of them lest she pointed her dagger back at him.

Maeve pressed her lips tightly together, eying him mistrustfully yet again, trying to determine in which category to put him, friend or foe. He carried a broadsword at his hip, which he obviously skillfully knew how to use, a blade he had just used to protect her. He was tall and strongly built with short, dark hair, and he was wearing clean cut woods' clothes; a pair of brown trousers with black leathered boots, and a deep blue shirt dampened by her wet hair when they hid in the hollow trunk of the tree.

He obviously didn't belong to the ruffians' gang, and as much as she hated to admit it, he might be the only one around within a mile to help her find what she was looking for.

She had no choice but to roll the dice on him now. At least she really was on the island of Kalladrell. The next step was finding the village of Denwood.

Keeping her eyes locked on him like a hawk, she carefully circled around to crouch down by the fallen thieves. Sheathing her dagger back inside her right boot, her fingers curled around the hilt of one of the ruffians' swords, a better weapon to defend herself with despite the dull blade.

"After you," she replied pointedly, tilting her head and motioning with her sword for him to lead the way, making it clear that she would not turn her back on him.

Grateful for her change of mind, the man simply nodded in understanding and quickly turned around, exposing his own back to her as he weaved his way through the trees, trusting her not to run him through.

Maeve followed his hurried pace and kept a watchful eye on him, clutching the sword in her hand and ready to counter any strike should he turn on her unexpectedly.

As they silently strode between the green woods, with shafts of morning sunlight touching the forest floor in scattered patches, a road finally came into view in the lower grounds ahead.

 _The road._ _She had been so close all this time…_

After scanning the area carefully and gaining the satisfaction that they were out of trouble range, the man whistled and they skittered down the small slope leading to the road. In response to the man's call, Maeve watched as a black horse neighed and appeared from the other side of the forest, happily trotting towards them.

It was a majestic beast with a rich brown-colored robe, with powerful and agile paws coupled with intelligent sparkling black eyes. The man walked over to the beautiful animal and gave its nose a soft scratch before he went about the task of rummaging through the satchel that was strapped to the saddle.

Taking out a skin of water, he handed it to her with a kind smile. "I suppose you're thirsty after that long run?" he said with that deeply resonant, manly voice of his.

Casting him a sideway glance, Maeve hesitated a moment. Getting a good close look at his face for the first time, she eyed him closely, yet again trying to decide what to do with him.

He had a pleasant face, with dark hair and unshaven scruffy stubbles smoothly running along the edges of his jaw line. It gave him a manly, rugged look but what really caught Maeve's attention were his alluring, considerate eyes. A light blue color, they were small and keen, shadowed by a strong brow which, instead of giving the man a menacing expression, rendered him calm and thoughtful, as if he was in a constant state of intense brooding. He was slightly taller than her, with a solid frame of strong shoulders, and yet there was a strange caring softness in his overall stature, which made his whole appearance a blend of strength and safety.

Maeve couldn't even try to deny it; the man was handsome, very handsome, and the small charming smile that was currently lighting his brooding features was dissolving her mistrust by the second.

She took the skin from his hand and swallowed a few sips.

"Are you alright?" He asked as he patted his horse's collar and looked at her as she drank.

"I'm fine," Maeve answered, closing the tap of the skin and handing it back to him. "Thank you."

"You shouldn't be walking alone in the forest like that. The woods are filled with thieves and bandits of all kinds," he said, placing the water skin back into the satchel.

"I'll keep that in mind," Maeve assured him, drying her lips on the back of her hand before tiny bells of alarm jingled in her head to bring her back to urgent matters. "Is the village of Denwood nearby?"

"Denwood?" The man turned his eyes on her with a frown, the brooding expression back on his face. "Is that where you're heading?"

"Yes," Maeve nodded eagerly. "I'm supposed to meet someone, it's very important."

"I'm sorry but Denwood is not a place I'd travel to right now if I were you," he said, his voice darkening and Maeve saw a spark of sorrow flicker in his eyes. "The village was destroyed three weeks ago. The Blood Raiders sacked everything and slaughtered half the villagers."

" _What!?_ " The sound of her own voice echoed deafly in her ears as she stared at the man before her in shock and disbelief.

"There's nothing left but ashes," he added, and Maeve saw his jaw clench in restrained anger.

She felt her head spin. _How could she be three weeks late!? It didn't make any sense!_

"Which direction?" She asked hurriedly.

The man pointed over his shoulder with a thumb. "Up north, across the Blind Mountains."

With her mind racing like a wild horse, Maeve darted passed him and started running up the road, her thoughts in a loud uproar. _Three weeks! How could this be? What if Jacob was already dead? Then she had failed! She had failed before even getting to him!_

Realization hit her like a slap in the face. A time split. She must have hit a time split, one of those weird breaches in the time-space continuum that could seriously hinder magical trips and mess up hours, days and even years within the timeline. It was the only possible explanation. Dim-Dim had once taught her about these kinds of dangerous mishaps that could occur with transportation spells, which was why unless someone was born with the gift allowing them to magically travel from place to place, it was a very difficult field of magic to master for practitioners who didn't possess that specific ability. Hence the invention of many different tools to do the job, like the travel vials Maeve had never heard of before Dim-Dim gave her the one she had used.

That was what must have happened. The travel vial must have had a slight defect and it had thrown her off course both in space and in time.

Amidst the whirlwind of questions in her head, Maeve heard the man riding up behind her, shouting after her.

"What do you think you're doing?" He called after her atop his horse, reining the massive animal in front of her to block her way.

"I just told you. I'm supposed to meet someone in Denwood," she replied, hurriedly circling around the stomping horse. "Dear spirits, let him be alright…"

"And I just told you, you have to cross the Blind Mountains to get there." The man trotted his mount in front of her once again, looking down at her as if she was completely crazy. "That's a full month of trekking!"

"A month?!" Maeve exclaimed again, her shoulders slumping down in disbelief as she caught her breath, but her mind quickly spun into solution-mode. "I need your horse."

The man laughed at her candor and shook his head. "A horse won't do you any good. The roads are too narrow and crammed with dangerous slopes and slants. Riders, even experienced ones, never cross the mountains because the risk of falling and breaking their necks is too great."

"Then I'll walk," Maeve declared as she dodged passed him once more and resumed her rapid stride. The man was starting to get on her nerves now.

"With all due respect, with nothing but the clothes on your back, you won't last a day!" He called after her again, getting his horse to walk next to her on the road as he continued talking. "To make a trek such as this you need provisions, good trekking boots and suitable clothes. You'll also need a guide, a very good one, and you'll need weapons. There are all sorts of nasty creatures lurking about in those woods and that borrowed sword of yours is about to come apart."

"I can take care of myself," Maeve replied sharply, maintaining her pace as she tightened her grip on the thief's sword. She didn't even look up at him, stubbornly keeping her gaze in the direction where she was heading.

Suddenly, apparently as stubborn as she was, the man heeled his horse in her way again, forcing her to stop. "Look, I'm sorry about your friend, I truly am, but maybe he's still alive," he said intently as he leaned forward, the leather of his saddle creaking as he did. His voice was firm yet gentle at the same time as he looked her directly in the eye. "Maybe the Blood Raiders didn't get to him and if that's the case, if he _did_ survive the attack, then what good will it do if you get yourself killed in the woods because you're too anxious to get to him?" He paused, keeping his eyes on her to make sure his words were sinking in properly before he went on and pointed behind her with a finger. "The city of Southampton is just beyond the next fork. I know someone who can take you across." Then he straightened up in his saddle. "Come with me," he offered, extending his hand down to her, his brooding blue eyes never leaving hers.

Maeve stared at his outstreched hand, growing silent as she debated with herself. She needed to get to Jacob; that was as clear as water to her. It was her mission. She had promised Dim-Dim she would do anything to protect his friend, but the man in front of her was right; she wasn't thinking rationally. She needed to be alive if she wished to accomplish anything at all. Plus, she didn't know where she was. She knew next to nothing about the island she was on; Kalladrell. She knew nothing of its people, of its layouts of lands, its culture, nothing. This man was offering help and he might be her only ticket to Jacob. She had no choice but to roll the dice on him. _Again_.

Maeve glanced at his hand and then back up to his charming eyes. _He had already proven himself back in the woods, hadn't he?_

She glanced down at the sword she was holding, noticing that the blade was about to come off the hilt just like he had pointed out. Frustrated, she tossed it aside on the road and breathed out through her nose, trying to simmer down.

His hand was still outstreched, waiting for her, and after a moment, half-reluctantly, Maeve clasped it with her own and he pulled her up behind him on the horse.

When she was comfortable enough, he motioned the horse in a walk. "I'm Robin."

"I'm Maeve." She couldn't believe everything that was happening. _What would Sinbad think if he saw her like this, riding behind a handsome man on some forsaken far away land merely two, well, now, five weeks after the storm?_

"Pleased to meet you, Maeve. May I ask what you were doing all alone in the middle of the forest?" Robin asked, trying to engage her in conversation as genuine curiosity colored his voice.

"I was trying to find my way out of it," Maeve answered shortly, resting her hands on her thighs.

"How did you end up lost in it in the first place?" Robin inquired again as his eyes scanned the surrounding woods to make sure none of the thieves were close by.

"It was an accident."

"What kind of accident?"

"A miscalculated itinerary."

"You're not from around here, are you?"

"Do you always ask so many questions?" Maeve asked with growing annoyance.

"Do you always give so many vague answers?" Robin asked with a tone to match hers.

"I'm not very talkative with strangers," Maeve replied dryly, biting the inside of her cheek. The man was as quick-witted as she was and she wasn't sure she liked it.

"We're not strangers," Robin replied with a certain amusement. "We're already in the process of becoming friends."

"Meaning we're not friends yet," Maeve pointed out, sticking to her point.

"Meaning we're not strangers either." Robin stuck to his, too. "I rescued you from those brigands, didn't I? That's got to count for something."

Maeve found it unsettling to argue with someone she couldn't face. She couldn't discern if he was smiling or not, but he was clearly enjoying their small banter. "You didn't rescue me," she firmly assured him, keeping her voice as calm as she could. "I had everything under control before you barged in."

"Sure," Robin replied, keeping his gaze ahead as he continued to mock her playfully. "Outnumbered twenty to one with no weapon at all, scampering under a shower of deadly arrows and wet as a fish. You were on top of it all."

Maeve glared at him from behind. " _Look_ ," she began warningly, her patience about to run short. "I didn't expect to stumble upon a felons' party. I had to make-do with what I had and I'm sure I would've managed just fine without your help." She was close to losing her temper now. If Robin kept needling her like this as if she were just a mere damsel in distress he had rescued, she would snap.

"I take it this is your way of saying _thank you_ ," Robin mocked again, completely oblivious to the edge in her voice as he kept toying with her. "You're welcome."

Maeve's mouth gaped open at his boastful words. She fought to keep her cool and searched for a spiky reply. "Are you always so arrogant?"

Suddenly, Robin pulled at the reins to stop the horse and twisted around to face her in the saddle. "Are you always so ungrateful?"

He was so close their faces were inches apart, but she held his gaze with her best glower. "I didn't ask for your help."

"You're right, you didn't," Robin agreed, keeping his eyes locked with hers as he went on with a serious edge in his voice. "But if I hadn't stepped in when I did to give you a hand with those bandits, chances are you would've been killed. And even if you _had_ managed to escape like you claim you would have, you would be walking to your death right now if I hadn't stopped you from venturing into the Blind Mountains. So like it or not, one way or another, I _did_ save your life."

Maeve stared at him, still glowering. As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. Everything he said was true. Without him, she would still be running from those thieves in the forest and she would be losing precious time. But there was no way she was going to tell him that. "So what do you want me to do? Give you a medal?"

Robin cocked his head to the side. "A simple _thank you_ would suffice."

Surrendering in her own way, Maeve obliged to him in an overly exaggerated theatrical tone. "Thank you, Robin, for saving my life so heroically like a knight in shining armor."

Robin kept his blue eyes anchored on her, looking somewhat amused by her spirited fake answer and probably well aware that this was as close to a real _thank you_ as he would get. However, to match her stubbornness, he teased her again. "You can do better than that."

Maeve stared back at him, bewildered. This man was simply infuriating and she had to tap into all the self-control she possessed not to strangle him right there with her bare hands. Holding his deep gaze firmly with her own, she let dry sarcasm color her voice. "Are you always so agreeable?"

Robin remained silent, studying her as if to quietly assess what she was made of, until a genuine, almost satisfied smile stretched his lips and wrinkled the corner of his blue eyes. Then he gave a faint nod. "You're welcome," he replied with a smirk, refusing to let her win as he turned around in the saddle and heeled his mount into a gallop without warning.

Startled by the sudden pull forward, Maeve quickly wrapped her arms around his waist to keep herself from falling backward, fighting the urge to curse out loud as she adjusted to the pulse of the ride.

She came to the conclusion that Robin was infuriating, yet he had known exactly how to pick on her nerves without making her lose her temper. He had brought her on the brink of pure frustration and yet had managed to keep their bickering at a safe enough level so as not to endanger his life. There was only one other man Maeve knew who could do that.

Her chest tightened as the horse's hooves rhythmically echoed on the road, and with the familiar twinge of longing that tugged at her heart whenever her thoughts drifted to him, she wondered what Sinbad was doing in this precise moment, whether he was on the Nomad or on land, if he was holding the tiller or striking a shipping contract with a merchant at a foreign port, if he was safe or in the middle of a fight…

Hundreds of thoughts wanted to surface all at once in her mind but before her longing and her worry could overwhelm her, before her fingers could brush against the red bandana tied loosely around her wrist, Maeve's daydream was rudely interrupted when after a sharp turn in the road, Robin reined the horse to an abrupt stop.

Standing a couple of feet in front of them, the band of thieves was blocking their way and by the grim expressions on their faces, Maeve could tell they were not happy at all. She also noticed that four archers, two standing at each side of the group, had their bows cocked with deadly arrows ready to be released at any second.

At the center of the gang, the leader, the blond ponytailed man who had first spotted her in the woods, glanced up at Robin with a defying glare. "You took something that belongs to us."

Nonchalantly, Robin replied to the thief with a confused frown. "Really? Are you sure? Because last time I checked I bought this horse five years ago from a very trustworthy breeder."

"Don't play with me, mate, I'm not in the mood," the leader warned pointedly, his gaze as sharp as the sword at his side. "Give us the woman. She's ours."

Maeve was about to protest vehemently but Robin cut her off. "I see…you're talking about her," he pointed at Maeve behind him with his thumb and then shook his head. "Sorry, boys. Finders, keepers."

When the ponytailed man's glare turned deadly, Maeve could tell his anger was fueled by Robin's smug smile. He became dangerously threatening. "Give me the woman," he repeated his request with venom in his voice. "Or I'll take her from you myself."

The archers pulled the strings of their bows and aimed at them, ready to shoot.

With her hands strapped around his waist, Maeve felt Robin tense. Quickly, he waved a hand to calm the thieves' temper. "Easy now…I'm sure we can work something out," he said, swinging his right leg over the horse's collar to leap down to the ground. Giving her the reins subtly, he intently looked up to her and whispered. " _Stay on the horse_."

Slowly, with his hands spread apart to show them he meant no harm, Robin walked up to the thieves and addressed them again. "Maybe we could come to an arrangement."

Maeve's mind began to race. She had no idea what Robin was doing, though she guessed he was trying to buy some time. The archers were now aiming their arrows at him.

With as much discretion as she could, she scooted forward in the saddle to sit properly, slipping her feet in the stir-ups. Glancing down, she noticed there was a bow and a quiver attached to a hook on the right side of the saddle.

When Robin finally reached the thieves and stood right between the four archers, the ponytailed ruffian leered at him. "There will be no arrangements, and you're about to pay for your arrogance." He unsheathed his sword and motioned for two of his men to go get Maeve.

Robin kept his hands peacefully in the air and waited.

Maeve held her breath. As the two thugs neared the horse, Robin turned around and their eyes met. She searched his gaze, trying to understand what he wanted her to do but before she could find the answer, the ponytailed thug rammed his fist in his abdomen without warning.

Robin doubled over and dropped to his knees with a grunt. The thief then grabbed him by his short hair and pulled his head back. "But before I kill you, let's have a little bit of fun first, shall we? I want you to watch while the lady entertains us," the man snickered viciously.

At that, Maeve had heard enough. As one of the two brutes assigned to fetch her tried to grasp her leg, she kicked him hard in the face. The horse reared up in fear and as a result, the other ruffian received the powerful blow of a hoof square in the nose.

Simultaneously, before the archers could turn their attention on Maeve, Robin shot to his feet and threw himself on the leader. Arrows whistled in the air but as the four archers had been facing each other to shoot Robin standing between them they ended up shooting themselves instead and fell down with surprised yelps of pain.

The rest of the thieves then charged at Robin who drew out his sword just in time, blocking the numerous assaults as best as he could.

Coming to his aid immediately, Maeve heeled the horse and rode through the pack, kicking and punching every time the occasion presented itself, but no matter how wildly the horse bit and reared at the ruffians, it wouldn't be long before they would manage to pull her down. There were simply too many of them.

"Maeve!" Robin shouted amidst the chaos, throwing her a sword he had managed to snatch from one of his opponents.

Catching it by the hilt and relieved to finally have a good quality weapon in hand, Maeve tried to slash her way through the thieves and make enough room for Robin to jump back on the horse so they could get out of there.

However, charging in the pack as well, two riders suddenly joined the fight.

Maeve recognized the two massive draft horses that had been harnessed to the thieves' wagon in the forest. More to the point, she recognized the riders; the thug with the black beard and his bald companion. Wielding double-crescent battle-axes, they looked angrily intent on getting even with her once and for all.

With them in the fight, Maeve knew she and Robin didn't stand a chance. They would be hacked by those deadly axes in a matter of seconds. She had to get them away from here so Robin could finish the rest of the thugs off, which she trusted he could accomplish without her. By what she had witnessed in the forest earlier and what she was witnessing now, he was a terrific fighter, brilliantly skilled at sword-fighting and hand combat.

Ramming the hilt of her sword in the face of a thief who was trying to snatch her reins, Maeve called out at the two riders perched atop their huge geldings. "Hey! You boys up for a race?" Not waiting for their answer, she heeled Robin's horse into a gallop up the road in the direction she and Robin had just come from.

The two thugs immediately raced after her and as the clashes of steel faded away in the distance, Maeve silently prayed that Robin would be alright.

As she pushed the horse harder, the trees of the forest on each side of the road flashed past her at dizzying speed but Maeve couldn't bring herself to look back at the thugs chasing her. One swing of their deadly axes and they would behead her for sure.

Fear pumped in her veins as the hoof beats of the horses reverberated all around her as the two riders finally closed in on her from both sides, sandwiching her between them.

With a raucous yell, the bald man swung his massive weapon to chop off her head and Maeve barely had time to duck down on the horse's withers to avoid the razor-sharp blade. Out of blind terror and primitive instinct to save her life, she felt the magic within herself flare up and tingle down to her fingertips. When she straightened back up, a fireball formed in her left hand and she threw it at her attacker. Flames exploded on the man's scruffy shirt and he stumbled down his huge steed with a scream.

Maeve then turned to his bearded companion on the other side, whose eyes were wide with astonishment and fear. Not giving him any more time to react, she punched him hard in the jaw and the bewildered thug lost his balance and fell down heavily to the ground as his massive gelding continued on galloping with the other one, rider-less.

With her mind racing, Maeve didn't lose a second and reined Robin's horse down promptly, wheeling it around in a swift u-turn and then urging it to a fast gallop again. Instead of riding back down the road though, she led the animal off into the forest and for a second time that day she tossed her sword away.

As she speedily galloped through the widely spaced trees and luxurious brambles, Maeve unhooked the bow from the saddle's strap and pulled out an arrow. Soon, the clash of steel reached her ears again and through the branches and the leaves, she caught sight of Robin fighting off the thieves. Half of them were squirming in pain on the dirt road and the rest were closing in on him on all sides.

Slowing the horse down, Maeve led it close to the battle while remaining hidden in the shadows of the trees. Cocking the arrow in place, she pulled the string of the bow and shot. The arrow sliced the air and lodged itself in the shoulder of one of Robin's opponents.

The thieves froze in confusion. As they looked about in surprise, Maeve didn't lose a second. She cocked another arrow and charged into the fight. In a flash, she made another accurate shot and brought down the thief Robin was facing. Too stunned to react, the remaining ruffians stared at her incredulously.

Rapidly riding through the pack past Robin, Maeve clasped his arm firmly and hauled him up behind her as the horse continued to canter ahead at full speed, leaving the dumbfounded thieves behind them.

As they galloped away from the battle scene, the shouts from the thugs slowly turning into distant echoes, Robin solidly wrapped an arm around her waist to keep his balance and carefully sheathed his sword. Panting, he tried to catch his breath. "What took you so long?"

"Is that your way of saying _thank you_?" Maeve smirked over her shoulder. "You're welcome."

Robin laughed at her comeback, and together they rode off to the city of Southampton.


	9. The Guide

**Chapter 5 – The Guide**

One pair of eyes wasn't enough for Maeve to look at all the dizzying activities unfolding in the streets of Southampton. Merchants with singsong voices boasting the quality of their products were stationed in many stalls on either side of the wide cobbled lanes, selling everything from bread, fruits, beans and meat to jewels, clothes, books and weapons, while others occupied small boutiques in two, sometimes three-story buildings that lined the streets with arched facades of all sizes and shapes. Colorful ornate signs with the shop's names either dangled above the doors or adorned the windows. Everywhere, people bought, traded and sold more goods than Maeve could sort out. Some weaved, carved and forged. Others painted portraits, mixed cures and took out teeth. Many wagons circulated up and down the alleys, carrying sacs of grains, barrels of ale, furniture and animals. Inns, taverns and restaurants with packed terraces also stood on many corners.

The city of Southampton, with its high, graceful architecture and maze of streets, was unlike anything Maeve had ever seen in her life. It was a teeming hive of elegant tall buildings with polished walls of soft colors and hundreds of lively citizens out and about everywhere.

Perched behind Robin atop his horse—they had switched places when they reached the city so Robin could better navigate through the urban maze—Maeve stared wide-eyed at all the wonders around her, her ears buzzing with all the noises. More than once they had to duck out of the way to avoid being run over by hurried wagons of busy merchants on delivery. Many inquisitive eyes peered up at them with the hope of selling them something and Maeve noticed that everyone, although discreetly, systematically bowed their heads with deference as she and Robin rode past them. She meant to ask Robin about it but there was something else that quickly spiked her attention and made her ill at ease: _the way people looked at her_.

Ever since they had entered through the main gates of the city, which was surrounded by high stone walls designed for long-term defense, Maeve had caught a mysterious glint in the eyes of every person they had come across. Each and every one of the gazes she had met had anchored and lingered on her with a mix of stupor, bewilderment and wonder. It completely baffled her, but she made a mental note to address the matter later because right now, navigating in the city required all her alertness.

"Welcome to the city of Southampton," Robin said to her over his shoulder as he motioned the horse down a street where a bunch of young children were playing with a ball amidst the frenzied commercial activity.

"It's huge," Maeve mused with admiration. "Is it the crown city of Kalladrell?"

"No," Robin shook his head with a slight chuckle. "There is no crown here, no royalty. The biggest and most active city of the island is Erindale, where the Central Council is seated as well as deputies and representatives elected by the people of every village and city on the island."

Maeve frowned at him as a young boy ran passed them after the ball. "You mean like a republic? Like in the ancient Kingdom of Endor?"

"Aye, with the right to one man one vote."

"Isn't the republic what caused the downfall of their kingdom? The system crashed down to a bunch of tyrannical factions." Maeve had difficulty conceiving how such a system could function without greedy souls seizing power through corruption and manipulation, and more importantly how it could last.

"And here I thought you were just another common mad woman with nothing better to do than get herself lost in the woods," Robin noted playfully, surprised at her knowledge about the history of long lost kingdoms. "You actually studied."

"I was the student of a very brilliant man," Maeve replied, sadly thinking about Dim-Dim.

"So I see," Robin waved his hand at an old, white-bearded blacksmith who was shoeing a dappled mare between two stands of iron tools. "We're all aware of what happened with the Kingdom of Endor. Our politics have their ups and downs, but nothing has gone out of hand so far. Besides, Kalladrell is a very prosperous island, mostly self-sufficient hence we don't have to rely on complicated trade alliances with other lands."

Maeve considered Robin's words, wondering how big the island truly was as he made another turn down another street where a wagon transporting baskets of fresh lettuce was rolling their way. The farmer holding the reins of the harnessed bay horse pulling the load bowed his head to them and smiled at her, and Maeve yet again noticed the mysterious spark in his round brown eyes.

"So, Robin," she began, curious, but also eager to shrug off the weird sensation she was getting from all the strange flickers in the people's glances. "What do you do for a living?"

"Can't you guess?"

"You're the town's resident rescuer of damsels in distress?" Maeve snorted.

"Occasionally," Robin chuckled at her tease. "But the pay is terrible, especially gratitude-wise." A special smile spread on his lips as he stole a glance at her over his shoulder.

"Robin!" A tall man wearing a deep blue shirt with neat, short blond hair and a smooth-looking face, struggled to make his way through the throng of people in the packed street.

"Simon!" Robin reined his horse to a stop as his friend finally reached them.

Simon looked up to address Robin but stopped dead in his tracks when his eyes, a striking vivid blue that contrasted with his creamy pale skin, went wide and fell on Maeve. His jaw slowly dropped and Maeve saw the strange flicker shine in his gaze like she'd seen in everybody else she'd met so far. But the tall blond man, with a natural friendly disposition emanating from his kind features, quickly gathered his composure again. "I see hunting was good today," he commented pointedly, eying Robin intently.

Maeve's eyebrows both went up at the comment and Robin cleared his throat, probably giving his friend an intent look of his own to get him to focus his attention back to what it was he had come to tell him in the first place.

Taking the hint as he straightened his back and rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, Simon turned serious again. "I've rounded up the group of volunteers. Leo, Coop, Mark and I will have everyone ready to leave by dawn. Is that all right with you?"

Maeve felt Robin tense in front if her in the saddle as he spoke grimly. "How many?"

"About a hundred men, give or take, with a few women and children. Plus our men, that makes about three hundred total." Simon answered.

Robin looked away and shook his head. "You know that the smaller the group, the better the chance we have at making it through alive."

"I know," Simon replied with a wince. "But these people have families back there. They want to help. They know the trek will be risky but they're ready to face whatever dangers might await them."

"Can the men fight?"

"They're all familiar with swords and we have a little bit of time to teach them archery. I think they'll be of useful support to the soldiers," Simon said confidently.

"Good," Robin nodded, though rather reluctantly. "We leave at dawn then."

"At dawn," Simon repeated with a nod.

"I'll stop by the barrack after lunch," Robin informed his friend as he motioned his horse in a walk again. Simon waved at them and disappeared in the mass of people, but not before letting his stunning blue gaze linger on Maeve.

Averting her eyes from the blond man, Maeve studied Robin closely from her seat behind him. " _You're_ the guide?" she observed wryly, both surprised and slightly offended that he hadn't told her sooner.

"I am," Robin admitted shamelessly, keeping his eyes ahead and careful not to bump into anyone with his horse.

"Why didn't you say so in the first place?" Maeve wondered in puzzlement. Earlier in the woods he had clearly insisted that to cross the Blind Mountains safely she would need an experienced guide, so why had he overtly omitted to mention that it was him?

"I like to be mysterious," he replied simply, and Maeve could tell he was grinning smugly as he did, eliciting a roll of her eyes in return.

"You're going to Denwood?" she inquired although the answer was quite evident.

"Aye," Robin nodded, turning down a quieter street where a restaurant with a packed terrace stood on the corner. He led the horse towards rudimentary stables in a side alley where other horses were tied down and nibbling at hay. Although many people still traveled up and down the lane, Maeve was glad for the calmer and quieter vibe of the street. When they were off the main road and into the little alley, Robin swung his leg over the horse's collar and leaped down. Holding the reins, he waited for her to dismount.

"I'm coming with you," Maeve declared, and she was not asking for permission.

"I figured you would," Robin said, the corner of his mouth twisting up in a smile as he untied his gear from the horse's saddle and then went about the task of removing the tack.

Maeve watched him quietly. "How much do you charge for the crossing?"

Robin looked to her, puzzled. "What?"

"The crossing," Maeve explained. "I take it you charge people to bring them on the other side of the Blind Mountains, seeing as it's so dangerous. What's your price?"

Robin removed the bit from his horse's mouth and replaced the bridle for a halter. He then tied the horse with a leash to the fence next to the other horses and flung the tack over the railing along with the other riders' equipment. "Do you even have money?" He asked when he finally turned back to face her, and the way his entire body tensed at the mention of all the dangers lurking in the mountains wasn't lost on Maeve.

"No," she replied firmly. "But I intend to earn my passage nonetheless, so name your price."

Robin eyed her carefully for a moment, his blue eyes keen and piercing, with the shadow of quiet restlessness hidden in their depths as if he wished he could spare her the crossing altogether if he could. "I don't charge women. Your ticket is free."

But when he walked past her to end the discussion, Maeve grabbed his arm to stop him. "I insist."

Robin shifted on his feet uneasily, leaning back slightly as he studied her again. "We're crossing the Blind Mountains to bring aid and support to the villagers left in Denwood. I don't charge people for humanitarian trips, especially when there are about a hundred of them willing to put their lives at great risk to help others in need. I would be selfishly abusing them if I did."

Maeve quietly appraised him in return, a small smile curving the corner of her mouth. "Arrogant _and_ noble," she mused. "Not bad."

Robin averted his gaze with a slight huff, a shy smile nonetheless stretching his lips as the matter of the crossing was officially closed. "Are you hungry?"

Afraid he would never ask, Maeve let out a weary sigh. "Starving."

"Well then, come along," he declared as he placed a hand at the small of her back and led her towards the crowded restaurant that stood on the corner of the street. "I know the man who makes the best bean salad in town."


	10. Red Hair

[](https://imgur.com/r4Udkfw)

**Chapter 6 - Red Hair**

The inside of the _White Horse_ was jam-packed and loud. Even if it was only noon, there were customers everywhere, laughing and cheering, playing cards and throwing darts, bickering and joking, eating and drinking. Excited groups of youngsters who believed the whole place was theirs danced and sang near the bar, older men competed in iron-arm tournaments and gambled in poker games, intimate couples whispered in dark corners, kissing and snuggling, and waitresses with gleaming smiles gracefully glided through the throng of lively customers and numerous tables, carrying mugs of ales and trays of stews that made everybody's mouth water, just like the spicy red lentil salad Maeve was currently eating. Robin had highly praised its delicious flavor and he had been more than right. This was the best meal Maeve had had in weeks, no offense to Dim-Dim's cooking.

Many chandeliers hung on the walls next to woolen tapestries, decorated trophies and painted shields, offering the wooden interior of the place a soft, warm glow that was compensated by the fresh air and bright light the opened windows allowed through. The large front doors were also constantly opening and closing, a bell hanging from the top frame ringing every time a new group of people came in.

The overall joyous and convivial atmosphere of the _White Horse_ was like that of any other popular tavern she had been to, with its lot of loud customers, flirty maids and occasional brawls, but Maeve couldn't help feeling out of place nonetheless. More to the point, she still couldn't quite shrug off the icy chill that had washed down her spine when she and Robin had first walked into the place, the tavern's lively buzz momentarily falling to a quiet hush as all eyes fell on them, but mostly on _her._ People had stared with wide eyes, choked on their drinks and broken into hurried strings of whispers, but not for long. Robin's commanding presence had somehow shut them all up as he casually led her to a free table, his sharp raptor gaze daring anyone to speak a single comment.

Maeve was still completely baffled by their unusual entrance but chose to follow Robin's lead as he calmly ignored them all. Despite his comforting presence though, she still felt like a complete stranger in this far away land where there was nothing even remotely familiar about her surroundings.

_She was all alone. The crew wasn't there._

Glancing around at the many faces dancing before her eyes, Maeve wished Doubar would suddenly emerge from the crowd with a tray filled with mugs of ale. She wished Firouz were sitting next to her, meticulously exposing a revolutionary scientific phenomenon. She wished Rongar were winning the dart contest taking place to her left. She wished she could catch a glimspe of Dermott's fluttering wings outside the nearby window. But more than anything else, she wished it was Sinbad sitting in front of her across the table, even if it meant the waitress would flirt with him and make her burn with quiet possessiveness, but she wouldn't care less right now, so long as she could look into his beautiful blue eyes and see his warm dimpled-smile.

_But he was miles away_...

Lost in a gentle whirlwind of longing, she barely noticed her fingers were absently toying with his red bandana around her wrist, until Robin spoke and yanked her out of her brooding state.

" _So_ , Maeve," he began as he took a sip of his tea. "Is there a family name that comes with your first name?"

Maeve was startled by the question. It had been many years since someone had asked her that, except maybe at dinner once with the crew as they reminisced the good old times when they used to be young children. It wasn't often, in fact it had been extremely rare, up until now, for Maeve to present herself by her full name, but she reasoned that perhaps it was common practice in Kalladrell to know and address people in such a fashion.

"Kalleeryen," she answered, her mother's family name sounding somewhat foreign in her own mouth as she pronounced it. It had been so long since she had uttered it out loud. "Maeve Kalleeryen."

In her family, the women kept their family name. That's why Maeve had inherited it from her mother and not from her father as would be expected. In the back of her mind, for a split of second, she found herself pondering on the resemblance between her family name and the name of the island she now found herself on, but she quickly shrugged it off.

Robin nodded satisfactorily. "Good strong name," he commented, his brooding gaze studying her face with a mysterious spark that seemed to have flared up with the reveal of this new information about her.

Maeve cleared her throat uneasily, wondering what could be so exciting about her name. "What about you, Robin…"

"Gallaway," Robin answered, still smiling that mystifying smile, but he quickly seemed to get the hint that he was making her uncomfortable and carried on to another matter. "Would you care to share where you come from?"

Watching him closely for a moment as he eased back in his chair and the spark in his eyes was replaced by sincere curiosity for her backstory, Maeve tried to relax and let her nerves unwind a little. "Have we upgraded to friends yet?" She teased lightly.

Robin chuckled, teasing her back with a genuine smile. "I don't usually invite strangers to lunch."

Maeve's lips curled up as well as she tore at a chunk of bread with her fingers. "Well...up until two weeks ago I was a sailor," she explained, but then frowned as she remembered the time split. "Actually, five weeks ago…"

"A sailor? You?" Robin's eyebrows both went up in surprise.

"Aye," Maeve nodded proudly. "I traveled to many places around the world from one adventure to the next, transporting cargos, trading goods…but then one night there was a storm and I fell overboard." Maeve lowered her eyes at the cursed memory and did her best to ignore the painful pang in her heart, the wound still fresh and raw, which also prompted her to deliberately omit any mention of her legendary captain and crew. Sinbad's name preceded him everywhere on the seven seas and she couldn't see why Kalladrell would be any different in that regard, and right now she wanted to stay low and avoid any unwanted attention, so she simply went straight to the point. "My mentor, the brilliant man who reads Endorian classics, is the one who sent me here. He knew about the raid in Denwood and that his friend was in danger so he sent me to protect him. But now I'm too late…" Maeve's voice trailed off as she thought of how miserably she had failed in her mission to aid Dim-Dim's friend.

When she met Robin's gaze again, his face was unreadable, as if he was silently analysing everything she had just told him, weighting every word for a truth or a lie, and probably wondering why on earth a common sailor, a woman no less, would be sent to the edge of the world on a distant far away island to protect a random man against an army of brutal invaders. Maeve realized her story made absolutely no sense, but before she could open her mouth and add anything, Robin's face softened and he offered her a comforting smile.

"Maybe he's still alive," he observed encouragingly. "Like I said earlier, a few villagers survived. What's his name?"

Maeve blinked. "Jacob."

Robin shook his head regretfully. "I'm afraid I don't know who that is."

They both looked at each other then, a thin thread of tension stretching in the space between them with everything that was being left unsaid. Maeve had spoken the truth, but not without omitting a bunch of details; the fact that her mentor was a wizard, that Jacob was a prophet, that there was a Belrok soon to be unleashed by a Djin Lord according to a dreadful prophecy...and Robin regarded her as if he knew perfectly well that she wasn't being completely honest with him, but there was a softness in his brooding features that somehow let her know it was alright, _for now_.

Growing restless with the pending, loaded silence, Maeve stirred her salad with her spoon. "Do you have family in Denwood?"

Robin shifted in his seat, accepting her change of subject. "I do," he said, and his blue eyes turned darker with his next words. "My uncle was amongst those who perished under the blood-tainted steel of the invaders."

Maeve was saddened to hear he had lost someone in the attack. "I'm sorry," she replied softly, knowing her words would be of little comfort to his grief.

"He died with honor, fighting to protect those he loved. My sister and my niece, bless the spirits, survived the slaughter," Robin explained as memories clouded his eyes. "Southampton was attacked, too, a few months ago. With the city's thick defenses we managed to drive the invaders back easily, but the village of Denwood was much more vulnerable. It was completely bare and naked, sitting right on shore for the invaders to take. The raid it suffered from was of a blood-spattered ferocity unlike anything I have ever heard of. It took everyone by surprise. In a matter of hours, everything was burned down to the ground and half the villagers were killed. And I wasn't there to protect them..." Robin's grip around his mug momentarily tightened as his features hardened with guilt. "We got news of the raid merely two days ago, when a surviving villager from Denwood sailed around the bay to Southampton with a local fisherman and he told us everything, down to the last gory details."

Maeve listened to his nightmare silently, recalling the raid that had destroyed her own life so many years ago. She could only imagine how miserable and tormented Robin felt. "Who are these invaders?"

Robin's features darkened even more. "They call themselves the Blood Raiders," he answered grimly. "Led by their king, Zankar, they came from the south and invaded the island of Tyross to the east. We used to live in peace with its people but in a matter of months, this horde of brutes seized power everywhere and plunged Tyross into chaos and tyranny," Robin explained as he twirled the tea in his mug. "King Zankar is now trying to conquer Kalladrell as well."

"And I thought I had problems…" Maeve mused ironically as she looked down into empty space and sighed dejectedly. "I wish I had gotten here sooner…"

There was a silent pause between them again, heavy as a cloak, but Robin quickly sliced through it like a sword cutting through air.

"Can I ask you a question?" he leaned forward in his seat once more, suddenly eying her closely with many questions brimming in his penetrating gaze. "How _exactly_ did you get here? You're not from this island and you obviously didn't come by sea. If you had sailed here, either you would have docked directly in Denwood or you would've docked in Southampton's port and then the roads would have led you straight here to the city. But still, expect for our local fishermen, worldwide ships rarely dock in Kalladrell, not even in Erindale's port. So how is it I found you running in the middle of the woods all by yourself?"

Maeve froze. She could almost see the apology in his eyes, silently pleading her to at least answer this one question and in return he would ignore everything else she was witholding until she was ready to tell him. He wanted the truth just this once, and Maeve could clearly sense the underlying question in his voice, about the _one thing_ that would _truly_ explain how she had gotten here in the first place. The word was almost hanging in the air between them, like a bait neither of them wanted to be the first to snatch.

Maeve didn't know what to do. She had no idea where Kalladrell stood when it came to magical matters. Was magic even practiced on the island? Was it allowed? Prohibited? The thief she had blasted in the forest surely had looked quite surprised...

She searched Robin's eyes for a clue about his knowledge on the matter but found none. All she could see was sheer curiosity and the genuine desire to understand how she had appeared on his island out of the blue, and she figured she owed him as much as a decent answer.

Yielding, Maeve took a deep breath and glanced to the sides carefully to make sure no one would overhear, then she leaned forward in her seat to face him fully.

" _Magic_ ," she said in a low voice, holding her breath as she braced herself for his reaction. She was surprised when he barely flinched, his raptor blue eyes simply riveted on her and inviting her to go on. She took his overall calm composure as a good sign and quietly obliged. "My mentor is a wizard. Right after Jacob contacted him, calling for help because his village was under attack, he gave me a travel vial to send me here," she explained slowly, getting to the part where everything had gone haywire. "I used the vial this morning; _this morning_ was three weeks ago. Something went wrong with the magic and I must have hit a time split, an unfortunate mishap that messed everything up with the temporality of the spell. I should have been here, in Denwood, the day of the raid, _three weeks ago_."

Robin's eyes never left hers as she spoke, quietly listening to her tale as the noises from the lively tavern vibrated around them. Both leaning towards each other closely across the table, Maeve waited for any kind of reaction on his part; a blink, a frown, a clench of his jaw...anything to indicate if he believed her or if he thought she was raving mad. But she caught no sign at all as he simply remained unreadable, his arresting gaze anchored on her, sharp as a hawk. It was profoundly unsettling, but after an endless moment he finally leaned back in his chair, his broad shoulders slacking and a deep breath filling his lungs.

"Well, Simon was right," he jested playfully. "Hunting _was_ good today; it seems like I made a good catch." And with that he dissolved the budding tension between them as easily as if he was swatting a fly.

Maeve blinked in surprise at his shameless statement, unable to help the small smile of relief that tugged at the corner of her lips, but still, she couldn't help but wonder whether he was truly satisfied with her answer or not. "Are you familiar with magic?" she asked tentatively.

"No," Robin chuckled good-humouredly. "No, I'm not, but the elders of the Central Council in Erindale are all very powerful wizards, and there's a duo of wizards stationed in every city as well, to preside the local councils. There are also a few other practitioners of the craft on the island so _magic_ is no foreign word here," he spoke reassuringly, smiling in kind, but then he paused, licking his lips hesitantly before letting his next words hang between them like an auspicious omen, his voice deep and resonant. "Are you a sorceress, too?"

Time stood still for a moment, the curious glint of intent returning in his brooding stare, almost shining with expectancy, as if this had been his _one true_ question all along.

Puzzled by the undercurrent of interest in his honest gaze, Maeve appraised him, unsettled once more, her eyes narrowing as she wondered why he suddenly seemed so calmly eager to know about her magical abilities, and her chin almost tilted upwards in defiance. "Yes, I am."

She waited for his reaction, poised to catch any trace of change in his endearing features, but the tension between them was abruptly severed by a loud cheer that erupted from the table next to theirs where a scruffy looking man won an iron arm duel. Those who had bet on the wrong guy cursed angrily as they handed their money to the winners, and after gulping the rest of his mug down, the bulky loser heatedly nudged his opponent for revenge. "Come on! Two out of three! Two out of three!"

Unable to help herself, Maeve chuckled along with Robin at the display of manly pride, watching as the two men settled for another round under the encouragement of their friends. She shook her head at the competing pair, almost fascinated by their behaviour, and was about to bring her attention back to Robin when she caught a glimpse of two elderly women sitting at a remote table next to the bar. Whispering to one another with expectant smiles, they were glancing straight at her with that special flicker in their wrinkled eyes, and Maeve felt something snap inside her right then and there. This was the last straw.

Shifting restlessly on the edge of her seat, she decided to seize the occasion once and for all and leaned forward to face Robin again determinedly, growing serious as the icy chill returned to prickle her skin. "Can I ask _you_ a question, now?"

"Of course," Robin nodded, shifting closer as well as to listen to her as he took a sip from his tea.

Maeve gathered her wits and finally adressed what had been bothering her since they had arrived in the city that very morning. "Everyone I've come across on this island so far, _you_ included, has been staring at me like I'm some sort of creature they've never before laid eyes upon. _Why?_ "

As if on cue, Robin's composure faltered, his eyes darting around nervously, and Maeve knew she had just hit an important nerve. Meeting her eyes again, cornered, he pressed his lips together, as if searching for something to say, as if he didn't know just how much he could tell her.

"Your hair," he finally answered with unnerving simplicity.

Maeve frowned, echoing his words. "My hair?"

"They're red," Robin nodded, his gaze gently drifting to her head and her cascade of curls. "No one has red hair on the island."

Maeve eyed him sharply, not at all convinced by his simple answer. What she saw in people's eyes was much more than just fascination for her hair color. "What else?"

"What do you mean?" Robin averted her pointed look.

"No one has red hair on the island, _fine_ , but there's something you're not telling me," Maeve observed, narrowing her eyes at him suspiciously for a second time.

"You think I'm lying?" Robin looked amused but slightly offended as well.

"I think you're not telling me the whole truth," Maeve insisted as she kept her eyes locked with his, watching as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Robin!" A young woman with a long, wavy pony tail strolled in their direction from the bar, unknowingly rescuing Robin from their conversation, a waitress apron tied around her waist.

" _Wikken Hells_ ," Robin cursed with a grunt under his breath and tilted his head to the side in the opposite direction, as if hoping the woman wouldn't recognize him. But it was too late.

"I've been looking all over for you!" The woman exclaimed as she reached Robin's side, stopping abruptly when she noticed Maeve sitting at the table in front of him.

If Maeve saw the special flicker in the woman's brown eyes, it was just as soon replaced by a glint of feminine competition. She couldn't yet decide if this was Robin's clingy girlfriend or simply an annoying flirt, but either way, she bit her lips not to laugh at his growing distress.

"Hello, Lilian." Gathering his wits as best as he could, Robin slightly twisted in his chair to face the blonde and flashed her his best smile, one that was totally fake and forced as much as Maeve was concerned.

"I hear you're about to cross the Blind Mountains again," the woman said, placing her hands on her hips angrily as she glowered down at him. Her voice was nasally high-pitched and was already ticking Maeve off.

"I am," Robin answered as he stole a brief glance at Maeve. "The villagers in Denwood need all the help they can get to rebuild their homes and their lives."

"But you, of all people, know that only one man out of three makes it out alive on the other side. It's suicide! And you know how much I hate it whenever you make the crossing," Lilian fussed, almost scolding him like a child.

"It's suicide for someone who doesn't know the woods," Robin pointed out calmly. "I do. And it's my job to ensure as best as I can that the men who step into the mountains all safely step out on the other side."

"But what about you?" Lilian demanded anxiously, her voice heating up. "You're tempting faith, Robin. Someday it's you who won't make it out. Why don't you stay here and let Simon lead the volunteers? You've trained him well, I'm sure he could do it," she suggested, running her fingers through his short dark hair to comb them affectionately, her hand then sliding down to his neck and shoulders.

She was being completely oblivious to Maeve's presence, and Maeve had to bite the inside of her cheek not to laugh as she noticed Robin's ears were reddening.

"He's never crossed the Blind Mountains on his own before," Robin explained, carefully undraping Lilian's possessive arm from around his neck. "Besides, my sister is on the other side. She's waiting for me."

Lilian's face fell with disappointment. "How long will you be gone?"

"I don't know," Robin answered as he looked over at Maeve, a look that didn't escape Lilian's notice.

"You don't know?" she asked accusingly. "Do you have any idea what I go through when you're gone? Can you even imagine-"

Robin stood up from his seat to calm her down, growing nervous about the fact that people around them were beginning to toss curious looks their way. "Lilian-"

"Don't worry," Maeve cut him off, directly adressing the blonde who had completely ignored her in the past few minutes. She had had enough of her childish fuss and she didn't like the attention she was drawing on them anymore than Robin did. "I'll keep an eye on him for you so he doesn't do anything reckless. I'll make sure he eats three meals a day and I promise to personally see that he doesn't go cold at night." And with that, she crowned her bold declaration with a perfect grin.

Lilian stared at her wide-eyed, her jaw dropping low in complete bewilderment. Maeve thought smoke was about to come out of her ears as she suddenly pursed her lips tightly and leveled a death glare at Robin, demanding an explanation at once. But he wasn't even looking at her; he was staring down at Maeve, twice as stunned by her brazen statement. With the palpable tension escalating between the three of them, Maeve thought Lilian would explode at any second, but instead she simply huffed through her nose sharply, wheeled on her heels and stormed off towards the bar.

Maeve and Robin watched her as she disappeared through the back door that led to the kitchen, slamming it close behind her with a loud clap. A small hush then fell on the interior of the _White Horse_ as inquisitive eyes peered at the scene with curiosity, but Robin expertly shot a stern glare all around the large room and the buzz of the place quickly returned to its usual clatter.

"Interesting taste in women," Maeve jested with a quirk of an eyebrow as she stood up beside him.

"You know you just upgraded our relationship status," Robin wittily observed as he gathered his composure again.

Maeve rolled her eyes, a small smile dancing on her lips as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I only did so because you looked desperate, and because I'm not one to simply stand by and watch when someone is in dire need of help," she casually explained, then mocked him with a smirk. "Even when I enjoy the show."

"But you did promise to keep me warm at night," Robin pointed out, teasing her back.

"Aye. I'll make sure we don't run out of firewood," Maeve replied as she picked up her cup.

Picking up his mug as well, Robin held her gaze with his perfect blue eyes. "I'll hold you to that," he declared with a smirk of his own, their glasses clanking together as they toasted, sealing their agreement.

"You're still hiding something from me," Maeve reminded him conversationally as they finished their drinks.

"So are you," Robin mirrored her words coolly, a quiet challenge written in his eyes.

"Are you always so evasive?" Maeve picked at him, both innocently and seriously.

"Are you always so suspicious?" he replied, matching her tone in this little sparring word game they had started playing in the woods when they first met.

Maeve leveled her gaze at him, trying to decipher the look in his bottomless blue eyes without losing her grip on reality. She straightened her back as she faced him, her spine like steel as she somberly declared, "It keeps me alive."

The buzz of the tavern softly echoed around them while Robin maintained their visual connection, unblinking and unmoving, his eyes suddenly shining with protectiveness, sharp as a blade. He took a breath and his features lined themselves with iron resolve. " _I'll keep you alive_."


	11. Reflection

**Chapter 7 - Reflection**

The streets of Southampton were a buzzing beehive of activity, brimming with stalls and booths of all kinds, with citizens going about everywhere, selling and buying, bargaining and arguing, chatting and laughing. The last time Maeve recalled seeing so many people so tightly packed together was at the market square in Basra, where you constantly had to watch your steps lest you bumped or tripped into anyone or anything in the way.

Eyes jumping everywhere in assessment of her dizzying surroundings, she noticed that all the men wore attires similar to Robin's, with adjusted shirts and trousers, some of less quality, others with richer colors and designs, depending on their economical status. It was nothing compared to the flowing ample garments and scarves she had seen people wear in the eastern kingdoms, and as for the women, she simply couldn't take her eyes off their beautiful garbs. It seemed that no matter if they were born into wealthy families or lesser ones, they were all wearing elegantly patterned dresses of a variety of cuts and styles. Some of them were detailed with printed flowers, others had rims of embroidered symbols, and even when the fabric was coarse and simple, the colors were still stunningly vibrant. It was absolutely enchanting to see. It made every woman and young girl shine with effortless femininity, not to mention the beautiful way their hair were occasionally pinned up on their heads in intricate braids of all sorts.

Maeve was fascinated by it all, and it soon began to make her feel out of place, what with her short, leg-exposing dress that caught the ravenous looks of men every once in a while. Indeed, many times she saw their eyes unabashedly travel down to gaze at her exposed flesh, making her wish she were wearing a longer dress like all the other women.

"Alright, no time to waste," Robin stated as they walked side by side on the busy cobbled lane, the reins of his horse loosely clutched in his fist. "We need to get you properly equipped for the trek."

"Meaning what?" Maeve asked distractedly as they navigated through the throng of lively citizens.

"Well, you're going to need a better outfit," Robin noted, oblivious to the fact that she had been thinking the exact same thing a moment ago. "A _warmer_ one that's for sure. You'll also need better boots," he went on, thinking out loud as he enumerated a bunch of stuff, his eyes surfing on the many stands and boutiques all around them. "You'll need a pack, a bedroll, a gourd, and since you're familiar with archery, a bow would definitely be a good investment."

"Whoa whoa whoa, hang on," Maeve grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to a stop. "I can't pay for all that. I have no money, remember?"

"It's not a problem," he dismissed her with a shrug as his acute gaze resumed its scanning of the busy street.

"I can't let you do this," Maeve insisted, turning him to her again while his horse stomped impatiently, eager to move forward. "You're already allowing me to tag along. I can't let you pay for everything I need."

"Do you have a choice?" he faced her fully, his calloused hand patting his horse's collar in a calming manner. "We're leaving tomorrow at dawn. You don't exactly have time to find a job at the local inn."

"I know, but still…" Maeve's voice trailed off as she pressed her lips together, uncomfortable with the whole situation. There was a protest at the tip of her tongue but Robin cut her off.

"I'm only paying for the clothes and the boots; the rest won't be a problem. We have a lot of equipment at the soldiers' barrack and I'm sure my friends will be able to spare a few things for you." He smiled reassuringly and started walking again, pulling his horse along as he resumed his quest for the shop he was seeking.

"I'll pay you back," Maeve promised as she fell into steps with him again, twisting her body to the side to avoid bumping into a pregnant woman.

Robin shook his head incredulously. "You've got to be the hardest woman to please I've ever met."

Maeve rolled her eyes, unimpressed. "Oh I think Lilian stands for good competition," she mocked wittily, side-stepping again to make way for an elderly man with two goats.

Robin docked his head slightly to the side, hiding a cringe, then tossed her a scolding look before surveying the alley like a hawk tracking a prey. "I think it's around here somewhere..." he mumbled to himself, seizing the opportunity to change he subject.

As he scanned the shops and stalls, turning his head from right to left over and over again, Maeve smiled inwardly, satisfied her little tease had hit home. When she focused on the task at hand again and wondered what Robin was looking for specifically, she opened her mouth to ask him for details but the words died on her lips when a boastful merchant suddenly invaded her personal space with a bunch of sparkling, colorful jewels displayed on a red silken cushion.

"A necklace for you, milady? Today could be your lucky day! It's my two for one sale!"

Maeve stammered a polite excuse to decline his offer and swiftly jumped out of the way before the hoof of a grey horse trotting by could crush her feet.

When she glanced around again, Robin had vanished.

_He was gone._

Maeve's head immediately whipped around, eyes wide as she stared down both sides of the street hurriedly. She turned on her heels, glancing everywhere, attempting to cover as many angles as possible, but Robin was nowhere to be seen.

Her heart skipped a nervous beat as a bolt of alarm rapidly shot through her, her entire body going taut like the string of a bow. She rose on the tip of her toes and craned her neck to better scan the street, blinking repeatedly to locate Robin's familiar head of dark hair, but she was swarmed by an ocean of unknown features, the shifting faces of perfect strangers. As far as she strained her eyes, Robin and his tall brown horse were simply nowhere to be seen. _He was just gone._ There were simply so many people tightly packed together on the bustling cobbled lane, with a few occasional wagons and horses, that the split of second interlude with the jewel merchant had been more than enough to separate her from him.

Cursing under her breath, Maeve glanced right and left again with rising dread, her nerves slowly twisting into solid knots. He'd been standing right beside her only seconds ago. He couldn't possibly be all that far, now could he?

Exhaling nervously as the wheels in her head began to twirl, standing alone amidst the scrutinizing eyes of the numerous people subtly gaping at her in quiet interest, Maeve finally sprung into action and wove her way through the crowd, deciding to head in the same direction she and Robin had been going moments ago, reasoning that maybe if she kept following that same route she would eventually catch up with him. After all, he must have realized that she wasn't next to him anymore and was probably looking for her as well. _He would come back for her, wouldn't he?_

As she circled around a young boy clutching his mother's hand securely, Maeve realized how dependant she had become over Robin in the expanse of one little morning, like a young chick safely tucked away under the wing of an hen. If it weren't for him, she'd still be lost in the woods, running from the band of thieves. In fact, if it weren't for him she'd probably be dead. He had saved her life.

But she owed him far more than that. She owed him dinner. She owed him passage through the Blind Mountains to Denwood and she was about to owe him for a new outfit and a bunch of equipment. His hospitality and generosity had been a real blessing amidst the confusion of her arrival to this strange island, and she hadn't even thanked him for everything he'd done so far. _She had to find him._

The noises of the busy market alley were beginning to buzz in her ears, lending more chaos to her inner sense of worry. Children were running and laughing, merchants were shouting prices to draw customers to their stalls, and cartwheels were rumbling on the ground, answering the echoes of hooves.

Maeve felt completely lost. More to the point, she didn't like the idea of wandering alone in the streets of Southampton where everyone looked at her so mysteriously because of the color of her hair. It made her feel profoundly uncomfortable and, to some degree, even more _alone_ than she already felt. She decided that if she didn't find Robin within the next five minutes she was going to ask someone to direct her to the soldiers' barrack, where Robin was supposed to meet Simon later on, and she would wait for him there.

As she squeezed her way as best as she could through the current of people, a head of brown hair suddenly stopped her dead in her tracks. At first glance she thought it was Robin, with his broad back slightly towering over a duo of eldery merchants, his face angled away from her sight and shadowed by the dark tarp of the selling booth. But something in the sweeping light brown hair of the man and the set of his shoulders sent her heart lurching foward into her chest.

She knew those hair...those shoulders...

Like sparks flying from flint and stone, fire ignited within her, licking her core and setting her ablaze with hope.

She sprang forward without a second thought, her pulse quickening in her throat like a sudden rainstorm unleashing at sea. She dodged her way passed everyone in her path, his name hanging on her lips, ready to be shouted over the commotion of the market square to catch his attention. Reason left her completely, galloping away to a world of naively crafted scenarios where her path would cross his again. Even if it made no sense, the only tangible thought that registered in her mind was that he was here, in Southampton, nearly within her grasp, just one step closer...

The sight of him struck the wind from her lungs, leaving her completely breathless, mindless, the gears in her head creaking to a rusty stop. Nothing mattered anymore.

She wanted to fling her arms around his neck and never let go, to drown in his musky oceanic scent as he crushed her against him. Tears were already burning her eyes like salt, blurring her vision and altering her focus, but she blinked them all away, refusing to severe the visual connection that was guiding her to him. So close...just a few steps...

A wagon blocked her progression and she choked on his name.

When he came into view again, the man finally turned around, his face illuminating in the harsh sunlight, his dark grey eyes and heavy beard marking the features of a complete stranger.

Maeve stopped abruptly, the name on her lips withering away like an old parchment crumbling to dust at her feet, and her heart fell into the pit of her stomach in cruel realization. The acute, arresting pain paralysed her on the spot, as if someone had struck her, her eyes burning as she stared where the man had been standing seconds ago, tearing her apart with wicked hope.

_It wasn't him._

She blinked away, eyes lowering to empty space as she fought to compose herself amidst the middle of the crowded street. Her heart pounded hard against her ribcage and a dull numbness claimed her limbs as an utter sense of foolishness settled over her. She chastized herself furiously for getting carried away so easily by the illusion that he might have truly been here in Southampton, in Kalladrell. She should have known better than to latch on to such a stupid trick in the blink of an eye.

Dim-Dim had sent her away, to travel down a separate path, his wrinkled cryptic gaze wordlessly indicating that they wouldn't meet again anytime soon.

_Of course it wasn't him._

Devastated over her own weakness, a small storm of torment tearing the world asunder in her heart, Maeve stepped away, forcing her feet back on their previous course a bit clumsily. She swallowed hard past the painful clench of her jaw, attempting to set herself back on track. She had to find Robin. She had to-

An old woman unexpectedly bumped into her, a cascade of fresh apples spilling from a bag on the ground, effectively jolting her back to the harsh reality.

"I'm so sorry, I'm-" Her mumbled excuse as she crouched down to pick up the fallen fruits was swiftly interrupted by the woman's urgent finger pointing behind her.

"Watch out for-" The old lady's warning immediately drove home as Maeve saw the two huge horses trotting down the lane, pulling a large wagon behind them.

She barely had time to stand up when someone steadfastly grabbed her arm from the other side of the alley and yanked her out of the way before she could be trampled, and the wagon rolled by, leaving a small trail of dust in its wake as it traveled down the street carrying barrels of ale and sacks of spices.

"Where the hell have you been?" Robin hissed agitatedly, remnants of sharp concern vividly bright in his small blue eyes.

Maeve felt warm relief immediately spread in her chest like a tidal wave when she realized it was him who had pulled her out of the wagon's way, his strong hand clasped around her arm securely, fingers locked in place like unbending iron. _He had come back for her._

"Where have _I_ been?" she snapped at him incredulously, her pride kicking in despite how reassured she felt at seeing him again. "Where have _you_ been? I turned my head for a second and you were gone!"

Robin shook his head, a low growl almost vibrating in his throat, his features haunted by a veil of wild concern. There was a hard tension in his entire body, his spine straight like steel and something dark was shining in his gaze, a fierce sense of alarm, as if losing her amidst the crowd would have been the promise of unforgiving disaster. _He had almost lost the woman with red hair._

They stared at each other wordlessly then, a silent conversation of stubborn pride and unanswered questions bouncing back between their touching bodies, saturating the air between them like smoke.

It took a few seconds for them to compose themselves, taming both their respective raw nerves, until eventually his shoulders relaxed, his grip on her arm loosened and he finally released her.

He blinked away awkwardly, emptying his lungs in a deep exhale, then attempted to fall back into his normal stence. "Come," he declared calmly, although with a touch of lingering awkwardness. "I found the shop I was looking for."

And with that, ignoring the remnants of unconfortable tension between them, he placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her through the maze of people, booths and stalls, his searing touch quietly betraying his intention not to let her out of his sight again.

Maeve allowed him to steer her down the street, seizing the opportunity to lower her thundering heartrate to a normal rhythm and gather her hazy thoughts back together. She focused on her surroundings, wondering where Robin's horse was located and it wasn't long before she got her answer. The magnificent animal was tied to a post in front of a small boutique with green shutters on each side of a wide window adorned with the sign _Larry's_ _journey through the woods_.

In response to her reading the sign out loud with blank perplexity and raised eyebrows, Robin rolled his eyes and replied defensively, "He sells good quality clothes and boots for trekking in the woods. The women's outfits are amongst the finest in the city." Climbing the short flight of stairs leading to the door, he held it open for her. "After you."

Inside the dim interior of the shop, numerous pieces of a variety of garments and trekking gears were displayed everywhere on tables and shelves around the room, as well as hanging on the walls up to the ceiling. The air smelled of leather and wood, a rough scent Maeve found strangely comforting.

A tall lean man with short white hair almost identical to a sheep's wool sat behind a distant counter, scribbling down in a notebook. "Yes, can I help you?" he called out to them, not even raising his eyes up, too absorbed in his task.

"The lady needs a good travelling outfit," Robin explained, walking up to the man while Maeve quietly appraised the dark sets of clothing displayed on the nearest table.

When he heard Robin's voice, the lean man raised his head and a wide smile lit his face like sunlight, revealing a set of perfect teeth as white as his hair. "Robin!" he exclaimed happily, hopping down from his high stool and circling around the counter. "How good it is to see you again, my friend!"

"Right back at you, Larry," Robin replied good-heartedly as he clasped the tall man on the shoulder.

When Larry's deep black eyes fell on Maeve, a glint of wonder and awe immediately flashed in their depths and the man froze on the spot, turning into a stunned fish and momentarily slipping away into another world, losing the ability to speak. "It's not...She's...Is that-"

"A friend," Robin cut him off squarely with a sideway glance. "Her name is Maeve. She's crossing the Blind Mountains with me and the others."

Maeve smiled politely as the man's gaze remained firmly riveted on her.

"Right..." he nodded absently, his voice trailing off as his mind still wandered somewhere far away, and Robin had to nudge him a little to bring him back down to earth.

When Larry finally snapped out of his trance, his dark warm eyes jumped between her and Robin and he cleared his throat in an attempt to pull himself back to the matter at hand. "Yes, right, the crossing!"

Beaming like a pumpkin, he then walked over to Maeve, the business man in him immediately surfacing as he studied her from head to toe, probably pondering on what would best fit her amidst all the various items of clothing he was selling in his boutique. Circling around her thoughtfully, his mouth twisted in silent assessment and an analysing frown creased his brow.

After a moment, he finally seemed to put a finger on what it was she would need and motioned them to follow him as he led them to the farthest part of the store. "My wife would be better suited to advise you, but I believe you'll find the perfect outfit amidst these particular ones here. They are practical and warm, yet elegant, light and feminine. You'll be able to move at ease and still feel like a lady."

Maeve glanced at the many different styles of garments displayed on the table before her. Unsure how to proceed about this, her quiet discomfort growing by the second, she tossed Robin a look full of silent interrogation.

"Make your pick," he assured her once again, disregarding her concern for money and slipping her a fashion suggestion instead. "I think blue would go nicely with your hair." A thin smile stretched his lips, his gaze flittering away in a shy manner before he swiftly pointed behind him with a thumb. "I'll find you some boots."

Strangely flushed by his fashion observation, Maeve watched as he walked away with Larry, the lean, white-haired man dipping his head closer to him to speak in a hushed voice, probably addressing the matter of her hair. She rolled her eyes at the mysterious behaviour, which was the norm with anyone she met on this island anyway, and let her eyes surf on the pieces of outfits in front of her.

Soon enough her gaze settled on a pair of dark brown trousers matched with an elegant deep blue shirt. She lifted the garments from the table, studying their quality and trying to picture herself in it, as well as evaluating if they looked comfortable enough to fight in. Opting to try them on to find out, she glanced around the store in search of a screen behind which she could change and spotted one right in the corner behind her. Draping the clothes over her arm, she quickly slipped behind it and set to work.

The outfit was of top most quality, with the warm trousers decorated with a single row of small knotted designs running down the outer sides of the leg, the patterns reminding her of Celtic symbols. The blue shirt was also quite exquisite, with a v-shaped neckline adorned with a matching rim of the same knotted symbols. Accompanying the outfit was also a magnificent black leather corset with golden clasps down the front, and shoulder straps to provide better support. It was a simple set of clothing, but the rich colors and the delicate embroideries gave it a beautiful elegance with a touch of graceful femininity, and yet it was clearly fit for a warrior.

Maeve had never worn anything like it, especially the trousers, but she supposed if she was about to spend a whole month trekking through cold mud, she wanted a practical outfit fit for the task.

Maneuvering in the tight space behind the screen, she managed to slip out of her old dress and wriggle her way into the trousers and the shirt, amazed at how comfortable every piece felt. She would just have to get used to the sleeves, which were more skintight than her former fluffy white ones. More to the point, considering the thin fabric of the shirt, Maeve wondered if she would need something to wear over it to provide more warmth, since Robin had said the nights could turn pretty chilly this time of year, and she no longer had access to her heavy brown cloak.

After buckling the leather corset around her waist securely and adjusting the straps on her shoulders, she paused for a moment, feeling completely alien in these new clothes on her back. She drew in a breath, gathering her courage, then grabbed her former dress in a bundle along with her old, worn-out boots, and bravely stepped out from behind the screen, bare feet on the hard wood floor.

A little mirror was waiting for her on the opposite wall and her reflection momentarily stunned her, her jaw slightly slacking. Although a bit more conservative in the neckline compared to her bolder former dress, this new outfit was still outlining every curve of her body in a very feminine way, with the corset nicely cinching her waist above her hips and lending her an agile and slender build. The deep blue shirt was also quite complimenting, as Robin had predicted, the rich color contrasting with her red hair to make them stand out even more on her shoulders.

As she stared at herself in the mirror speechlessly, it dawned on her how drastic a change it was from her former outfit, and a small voice soon began to whisper in her head, warning her that she would now be unrecognizable in a crowd, _to anyone who had ever known her_. If she were to ever cross path with the crew again, her trademark outfit wouldn't catch their eye anymore. Sinbad might walk right past her and not see her. It was a disarming thought and a frightening notion.

But Maeve chastised herself again. _Of course he would see her_. He could spot her anywhere in a crowd with her flaming red hair. _He would always find her._

But still, a bitter taste pooled inside her mouth. This new outfit was yet another step she was taking away from the crew and the Nomad, and yet another crack added to her fragile, aching heart.

Her skin throbbed silently as she absently raised her wrist, contemplating the red strip of cloth strung around her flesh like blood, a deep cut that wouldn't stop bleeding anytime soon. She brushed the tip of her fingers on the soft fabric of the bandana, like a soldier tracing a war wound, and she had to close her eyes for a moment, conjuring the strenght to cast his memory aside for the time being. There would be a time to long and miss him later, but not now.

Opening her eyes again, she let her wrist fall to her side and glanced around in search of Robin, spotting him not far off in front of the counter, in a crouching position as he browsed through rows upon rows of boots.

"I'm definitely going to need new boots," Maeve declared with a grimace as she dropped her old tread-bare boots on the floor and placed her old outfit on a nearby chair.

Robin turned his head to reply something but froze in place before any word could come out of his mouth. He became so suddenly still, like a sharp blade driven straight into stone, that Maeve thought time had somehow stopped in the room.

Only his depthless blue eyes moved, scanning her from head to toe, and his mouth slightly gaped open in muted shock. He looked halfway between a man who'd just been struck down, or a man who was seeing a woman for the first time. As if he was seeing _her_ for the first time.

Standing in front of him like a marble statue weathered by time, Maeve watched him as he watched her, rendered equally speechless, and eagerly wondering what in the Wikken Hells was going on through his mind right now to draw such an endearing expression on his face.

After an endless span of countless seconds, never removing his eyes from her sight, he finally rose to his feet across the room, swallowing hard before finding his voice again, deep and resonant. "You look stunning."

Maeve blinked, feeling her cheeks flush a crimson color as she quickly managed to clear her throat. "Thanks to you," she pointed out gratefully, glancing down at the elegant outfit.

His intense gaze still riveted on hers, it was a few more seconds before Robin dipped his head and looked away, a hand reaching up to rub at the back of his neck as he turned around to resume his quest for boots. Maeve blinked, wondering if she had just glimsped a blush on his skin or if she had merely imagined it.

"Ah!" Larry happily exclaimed as he joined them again, unknowingly slicing through the invisible tension in the air. "I knew you would find something to your liking. My wife would be proud."

"Thank you, I've often been told I have a good flair," Robin commented wittily as he faced her again, his composure back to normal as he boasted about the fact that he'd been the one who picked her outfit color.

Larry broke out into a heartfelt laugh and moved behind the counter while Robin stepped closer and handed her a pair of black leather boots, the previous awkwardness slowly melting away. "Here, try these on."

Maeve took them from his grasp wordlessly, only briefly meeting his gaze before sitting down on the edge of the chair where she'd placed her stuff, silently watching him as he joined Larry at the counter probably to take care of the purchase. If there had been a flush in his cheeks and down his neck before, it was gone now, and she silently prayed her own complexion was back to normal as well.

Slipping her feet in the boots, Maeve stood back up and walked a few steps to get accustomed to the feel of them. On top of being made with resistant soles fit for long hours of trekking through rough rocky terrain, the boots were also incredibly light, and equipped with little inner sheaths on each rim to hide daggers. Maeve thus retrieved the knife she normally kept in her old boot and carefully slipped it into place in her right new one, the final touch to complete her new outfit.

"You all set?" Robin asked, walking back to her and handing her yet another piece of clothing; a short, black leather jacket adorned with delicate knotted designs along the edge of every rim, matching those of her shirt and trousers.

"I'm afraid I don't deserve any of these," Maeve sheepishly observed as she took the beautiful jacket from his hand.

"The pleasure is all mine." A sincere smile spread on his lips as he shrugged, discarding her concern once again. "Besides, I couldn't possibly have you cross the Blind Mountains in that former thin dress of yours. You would have frozen to death."

He retrieved her old outfit from the chair and then headed for the door. Maeve slipped the jacket on and followed after him, quickly sending a goodbye wave at Larry behind the counter, his white hair crowning his head and a white smile etched on his features like a beaming child.

"You two be careful in those woods!" he called after them as they stepped out through the door.

When they were back on the busy market street, Maeve felt her senses jolt up in unison, harrassed by the buzz of vibrant activity in the city.

She followed Robin to his horse where he carefully tucked her old dress in the satchel that was strapped to the saddle, while she quietly wondered if she should keep it or not, now that she had this new top quality outfit that was considerably warmer. The sudden dilema made her spare a thought for all those times where she would have turned into an icicle on deck of the Nomad had it not been for her heavy brown cloak...

Unknotting the reins that were tied to a post, Robin swung them over the collar of his noble dark steed. He then mounted up and extended his hand down to her, an inviting gesture that mirrored the first time he offered her a ride in the forest earlier that morning when they had first met.

"I'm not losing you through the crowd again," he said huskily, the ghost of worry subtly creasing his features.

Maeve felt a small smile tug at her lips. Clasping his strong hand, she hoisted herself up behind him and this time, as opposed to this morning where he'd been nothing but a complete stranger, she felt comfortable enough to lay her hands on his hips for support, almost tempted to tease him about the flush she had spied down his neck inside the shop, but she decided to spare him the embarrassment, well aware that he would toss back a reply of his own about the flush in her own cheeks if she did.

So Maeve simply enjoyed the calm, familiar silence that settled between them as Robin heeled his horse into a slow trot, and led them through the maze of the city towards the soldiers' barrack.


	12. Strangers

**Chapter 8 - Strangers**

"Robin!" a man with sweeping black hair and tanned skin waved from the other end of the wide courtyard as Robin and Maeve trotted through the high, round-topped portcullis that led into the training area of the soldiers' compound.

If Maeve had thought the city of Southampton was a jewel of graceful architecture, she was truly blown away by the sight of the Council, to say nothing of the soldiers' barrack which was attached to it like an appendix and just as grand and impressive. From a quick outside overview of the two buildings annexed together into one mighty fortress of soaring white walls, Maeve could tell that the interior must be an intricately confusing maze of numerous winding stairways, long corridors connecting hundreds of rooms, broad hallways bathed by spanning windows, and many high-perched balconies overlooking the entire city.

Maeve felt like a tiny insignificant mouse amidst such grand towers of polished walls and exquisite style.

This was the Council of Southampton, but it looked like nothing less than the palace of a powerful emperor. The sight of it, as Maeve and Robin had ridden up towards it, had been utterly dizzying. Maeve had been especially awestruck by the duo of imposing marble statues that waited at the top of two wide flights of stairs, flanking a grand pair of double-oak doors and a facade of massive columns. Reflecting the sun with their immaculate whiteness and polished edges, the statues were that of a man and a woman, each holding a sword with its point resting on the ground between their spaced feet. Erected like two godly guardians, standing straight and proud, with their timeless gazes hovering down on whoever would step up and enter the Council, they looked like warriors of justice and truth, ready to strike down anyone unworthy of penetrating into such a sacred place.

Maeve had shivered under their impenetrable gazes, as if the gods and the spirits would pass judgment on the sum of her whole life the minute she entered the towering architecture in front of her, but Robin hadn't stopped his horse in front of the double flights of marble stairs. Instead, he had guided his faithful mount to a sideway entrance off to the left, shadowed between the giant columns, and guarded by two soldiers equipped with lances who had allowed them passage with nothing more than a solemn dip of their heads. Robin had then led his horse into the high-arched opening that plunged into a broad and dark tunnel, the end of which had erupted into the wide courtyard of the soldiers' barrack.

After the whirlwind of events in the morning, they had finally reached their destination, and Maeve was still oggling at everything around her like a child discovering the world for the first time; an intriguing world tucked away hundreds of miles from all she had ever known, filled with nothing but strangers and lurking dangers that were yet to be battled...

When she and Robin finally emerged into the courtyard, the sunlight of high noon welcoming them back under open sky and catching in her redhair like sparks of fire, stunned gazes immediately fell on them, with many elbows nudging close companions to draw their attention and whispers echoing amongst the people close by. It wasn't long before a little hush timidly fell on the crowd, althought there was so much activity bustling everywhere that the reactions of bafflement and wonder were only limited to the closest groups of soldiers, instead of rippling into the farthest sections of the compound.

Once again, Robin's stern glower and commanding presence was enough to send people back to their business, after which he dismounted and Maeve slipped down as well. Her feet had barely touched the ground when a man immediately trotted up to them to take the horse's reins and escort the animal to the stables, earning a wordless _thank you_ from Robin while she appraised the courtyard in silent wonder.

Framing the buzzing activity of the soldiers, tall columns surrounded the entire length of the training compound, with occasional doors and corridors hiding in the shadows between columns on the side. Separated by one big flat landing, there were also two flights of white marble stairs that, Maeve supposed, lead inside the mighty Council and into the depth of its labyrinth. Minus the two statues that guarded the main front entrance she had seen on her way in, this looked almost like an identical copy, with the same soaring columns shielding an impressive pair of double oak doors. The wide stairway was also flanked by two portcullises, the right one being the one Robin had taken them through on their way in.

"Robin!" As the tanned-skin man who had first called out to Robin reiterated his shout a second time and slowly wove his way towards them, another soldier accosted Robin, but Maeve was too busy studying the pool of men before her to pay any attention to their conversation.

She felt like she was standing at the edge of a beehive. Sometimes dressed in their official, dark blue leather armour that, Maeve noted, impeccably matched the color of her new outfit, and sometimes wearing nothing more than simple practical garments, every single man was busy and absorbed in a specific task. Most were training in pairs and fighting with swords, knives, shields and occasionally long metal-tipped lances and spikes, but a great many were also practicing archery, shooting arrows into round targets hung on hay blocks all lined up on one side of the courtyard. A few little groups were also practicing hand combat, punches and kicks, and as for those who weren't wielding any weapons and not training at all, they were either busy transporting crates and barrels, inventorying food, sorting out equipment or repairing broken gears.

Amidst the vibrant activity, Maeve noticed that while some of the men looked like fierce experienced warriors, with strong shoulders and solid frames like Robin, others looked like complete civilians, clearly less familiar with the matters of physical combat. She reasoned that they must be the volunteers Simon had mentioned earlier, the ones the soldiers were training for the crossing of the Blind Mountains.

As her eyes keenly surfed on the faces of the many people she would be travelling with over the next month in the mountains, Maeve took note of the few women also participating in the numerous preparations. They were for the most part sorting out food supplies that ranged from bread, cheese and nuts to beans, fruits and vegetables, while others were taking care of blankets, bedrolls and other useful camp gear. They were clearly familiar with the whole process of the expedition.

When Maeve saw a soldier in his deep blue leather armor lower a crate of fruits to the ground and then slide an affectionate arm around the waist of a small slender brunette to share a tender look with the woman, Maeve reasoned that the women who were helping out were probably wives, sisters and mothers to the soldiers and the civilians who would be trekking to Denwood. With the crossing of the Blind Mountains that would take a whole month, and with the reconstruction of the destroyed village on the other side that would probably last even longer, Maeve figured that families didn't want to be separated for an unpredictable period of time and thus preferred to travel together to temporarily re-establish their lives with their relatives in Denwood. After all, Simon had said earlier that the volunteers had families in the distant village.

Then, with a sudden pang of growing concern, Maeve saw a few young children, no more than a dozen, scurrying around the women. Their mothers ushered them along, giving them simple instructions to carry out to help with the inventory. Most children were rather grown-up, but a few were no more than little toddlers.

 _They can't possibly be making the crossing_ , Maeve thought alarmingly. Robin had said the woods were perilous and deadly so surely these children would not be part of the trip and were just helping out along with their mothers?

But Maeve quickly realized it wasn't so simple...If entire families were making the crossing to help relatives in Denwood, without knowing when they'd be coming back to Southampton or even if they would be coming back at all, then the children would not be left behind. They would follow their mothers and fathers in the trip, even if the woods were dangerous. It was a risk worth taking for sparing toddlers the sad outcome of becoming orphans and Maeve reasoned their safety would be among the top priorities of the soldiers during the trek.

She suddenly understood why Robin seemed so on edge to be taking so many people across the Blind Mountains. Soldiers could take care of themselves, but civilians, women and children needed protection of the utmost importance. Maeve hoped that whatever threat was looming in the shadows of the woods would not harm these families. Lilian's words about how only a man out of three made it out of the mountains alive suddenly rang in her mind.

Studying the numerous military exercises, Maeve ran the fingers of one hand through her hair. The early afternoon sun, alone in the clear blue sky above, was droning down in the courtyard without pause, glinting off the clashing blades.

As she waited for Robin to finish his conversation with the soldier who had accosted him, and while they waited for the tanned-skin man to reach them as he wove his way through the crowd of busy men and women, Maeve's attention drifted to one peculiar spot to the left side of the training compound.

There was a woman there, one who singularly stood out from the fragile bearing of the other women in the courtyard.

Maeve narrowed her eyes in the harsh sunlight.

The woman was standing in the middle of a circle of men, a group of volunteers by the looks of their simple garments. Each in turn, they were lunging at her from all sides, resolutely trying to neutralize her and bring her down with rapid kicks, quick punches and strong hand grips they had come to learn. But as effortlessly as swatting a fly away, the woman was thwarting all their attempts and sending them sprawling to the ground.

With the dark color of her skin, almost as dark as Rongar but only slightly lighter, dressed in a tight black leather outfit from neck to toe which outlined every part of her feline body, she looked like a deadly panther. Agile and fast, she was flowing through the air like an expert dancer, her movements swift and always reaching their target with efficient precision.

But her hair was what caught Maeve's attention. Braided in a hundred tiny small tresses tied up in a high pony tail, the woman's mane was reaching past her hips and the tip was a flashy blood-red color that gradually faded upward to natural black, making it look as if her hair had been dipped in burning lava.

Astounded, Maeve watched as the woman's fiery braids whipped the air around her as she gracefully spun around to backhand one of her opponents in the jaw. Side-stepping, she then bent over and flipped her next attacker to the ground as he flew above her and when she rose back up, using her momentum, she kicked one more in the stomach and elbowed another in the nose.

The dance was never-ending. No matter the nature of the assault, she countered them all with steady stamina and skilled dexterity. Every move was calculated and finely executed.

"Robin!"

Yanked out of her thoughts as she felt Robin standing next to her, Maeve turned her head just in time to see the tanned-skin man, his black hair sweeping into his eyes, finally reach them. Three other soldiers were with him and came to a halt before them. One of them was Simon, the blue-eyed blond man she had met earlier in the streets of Southampton, his kind face flashing her a friendly smile.

"Boys," Robin dipped his head to greet them.

"Her hair is red…" Maeve heard one of the soldiers whisper in astonishment. He had a young face with inquisitive, keen brown eyes that peered up at her with stupor. The look was mirrored on the features of his companions, except Simon, who nudged the young man with an elbow to silence him.

Robin cleared his throat and extended a hand towards her to present her to his friends. "This is Maeve," he said, giving the men a pointed look that felt like a silent warning before he continued. " _Maeve Kalleeryen_. She just arrived this morning in Kalladrell and will be accompanying us in the crossing."

The three soldiers exchanged bewildered looks as smiles quickly spread on their faces, but they seemed to take on whatever silent command Robin had given them.

"Fine with me," the soldier closest to her declared, a very tall and large imposing man with a wide grin that wrinkled his small green eyes. He had dark blond hair half-tied up behind his head, lending him a scruffy disposition, and he had the rough stubbles and deep husky voice to complete the look.

"Aye, you'll get no objection from me either," the tanned man with sweeping black hair added with a grin that bordered on flirtatious.

"Welcome to Kalladrell," the young one greeted her with a bow of his head, his short brown hair sticking out on his head above his baby face adorned with two expressive eyebrows.

The three of them all beamed at her with stars in their eyes, their joyous and somewhat deferential reactions totally baffling Maeve.

Robin then extended his arm out towards his friends to reverse the presentations. "Maeve, this is Captain Simon Fraser, whom you've already met." Simon nodded politely to her, his blue eyes vivid against his pale skin and blond hair. "This is Leo Mason," Robin gestured to the young brown-eyed soldier who dipped his head again with a thrilled smile set in a row of perfect white teeth, "Mark Danes," he pointed to the scruffy big man next to her who also slightly bent forward in greeting, "and the cocky one here is Coop Cohen." Robin let his arm drop before the tanned man with the sweeping hair and the flirty grin. "My men at arms."

Maeve dipped her head at each soldier in turn and offered them warm smiles. "Pleased to meet you."

"Oh, not as I much as I am to meet you," Coop playfully replied, resting his hand on his bow as he looked at her with seductive charm. There was a slightly foreign accent when he spoke, which only served to punctuate his flirtatious demeanor.

Ignoring his friend's flirty comment as if he was used to it, Robin turned to Simon, serious matters back on his mind. "How is the training going?"

"Not bad," Simon answered, flipping the blade of his sword up on his shoulder. "They're learning faster than I expected. I wouldn't bring them hunting just yet, but when they come face to face with a Skinwalker in the woods at night, the terror might make their aim accurate."

"They can always pose as Ringers if it comes down to it," Leo proposed, his young face suddenly becoming mature and grave now that the subject was back on the ruthless implications of combat.

"No, I'm not risking their lives," Rodin shook his head grimly. "What of the provisions?"

"Almost done," Simon assured as he tilted his head towards the women sorting and inventorying the food. "Merchants should bring in the last loads at any moment and I've got men and women assigned to divide everything into smaller sets so that everyone can carry something."

Robin nodded satisfyingly. "Good."

As she listened closely to the exchange between the men, wondering just what on earth a Ringer and a Skinwalker were, Maeve's curiosity mainly anchored on the way Robin seemed to be in charge and at the center of all the operations concerning the crossing. Something felt oddly off about his implication and she couldn't quite place her finger on what it was...

The response to her silent interrogation came when a young lad with square shoulders timidly cut into the conversation behind them.

"General?"

Robin turned to him. "Yes, Owen?"

"We're running out of chimes. I made the inventory and there are only twelve left. We lost all the others in the previous crossings."

Robin wiped a hand across his face as he considered. "Alright, I'll have Dave bring in a crate of them as soon as I can."

Owen dipped his head and turned on his heels, while Maeve felt her jaw slack as she witnessed the exchange, the revelation of Robin's rank amongst the soldiers hitting her square in the gut. Her mind started reeling, as if she'd suddenly been splashed with a bucket of cold water. Her gaze settled on Robin's figure in speechless surprise, and the gears in her head began dismantling every part of his character she had come to know since this morning.

_General._

He was not the guide of this expedition. He wasn't even a simple soldier in the army.

He was the _General_ of that army.

All the little observations she had noted earlier about how the people in the streets always bowed their heads and smiled deferentially as she and Robin travelled through the city all suddenly made sense, every sign and clue slapping her in the face one by one. Robin was a public figure; people knew him, respected and revered him. He was the commanding head of Southampton's army, the sword and shield that protected them all.

_General._

Maeve couldn't wrap her mind around the title. This was not some trivial information that could easily slip from one's mind, but Robin had deliberately omitted to mention this enormous detail to her, just like he was still witholding the truth about the real implications of her hair color here in Kalladrell. There was a cloud of secrets thickening around him, like a sinister storm lurking on the horizon. _He had lied to her._ He had chosen not to tell her, and there was something dark and bitter rising within her as she cast about to find the strenght not to lash out at him right then and there.

She chose to quietly glare at him instead as he stood uneasily beside her, the weight of her accusing gaze clearly ruffling his nerves. There was a slight squaring of his shoulders under his blue shirt as he drew in a breath, as if readying himself for a fight. He met her gaze squarely, like two blades clashing together, but the look in his hooded blue eyes, hard and pleading at the same time, unequivocally told her he would do nothing more than parry her blows, with no intention of engaging in battle. Not now. Not here.

Maeve felt her ire momentarily wilt away at the sight of him, looking guilty and sorry like a child caught with the hand in the cookie jar, but she glowered at him still, unwilling to let him off the hook so easily no matter his motives for lying to her.

When he knew she wouldn't snap at him with snarling teeth for the time being, he quickly let his gaze settle back on his companions, the four soldiers still standing before them and looking slightly puzzled by the wordless exchange that had just passed between them in the span of a few seconds.

"Coop, do you have a spare bow for her?" Robin tilted his head in Maeve's direction, the edge in his voice masterfully concealed.

"Can she shoot?" Coop frowned, a little dubious.

"Why else would I need a bow?" Maeve snapped a bit too harshly, crossing her arms over her chest as she finally found her voice and got a grip on her receding anger. She decided she would deal with Robin later.

"She can shoot, trust me," Robin guaranteed his companion with a confiding look.

"What's a Skinwalker?" Maeve asked more calmly, seizing the opening as her mind went back to the matters at hand.

Simon swung his blade down from his shoulder with a grim expression. "A deadly creature that roams the dark, packed woods of the Blind Mountains. One you do not wish to encounter."

"They're completely blind and hunt by sound at night," Mark added with a sour look, clearly despising the creatures' existence just as much as his friend. "They're fast, vicious and can kill three men with one slash of their lethal claws."

"Charming," Maeve said sarcastically, wrinkling her nose.

"Wait 'till you see what the Kawasseas can do," Coop said under his breath.

"The what?" Maeve frowned at the word.

"Kawasseas," Coop repeated. "The ancient Korellien word for 'mermaids'."

Maeve lifted a skeptical eyebrow at him. "Mermaids. Right. In the middle of a mountain."

"Oh, they're real alright," Robin said, confirming his friend's description. "They live in a huge swamp the size of an inland lake about halfway through the mountains. One we unfortunately have to cross."

Maeve pressed her lips together grimly, assessing his words. "Any other particular creatures I have to worry about, _General_?" She cocked her head to the side and looked straight into Robin's eyes, making a point of biting into his title.

"I think that's plenty enough as it is," he replied, avoiding her intent gaze with a barely discernible cringe.

"Are my eyes playing tricks on me?"

Simon and Mark turned to the sound of the feminine voice behind them, making way for its owner.

It was the woman in black leather, with the tip of her hair dipped in lava.

Walking up towards their little group, she was eyeing Maeve like a tiger who didn't want to lose sight of a rare prey.

Shifting somewhat apprehensively at the other woman's approach, Robin extended his hand once again for a presentation and Maeve noted the careful edge in his voice. "Maeve, this is Leisa Ryan. Leisa, this is Maeve Kalleeryen. She's coming with us to Denwood."

"Is she now?" Leisa smiled a feline smile, one that would have been nothing but lethally provocative had it not been for the genuine, excited glint that shone in the woman's dark eyes as she looked Maeve over from head to toe.

"Leisa is a Radakeel," Robin explained as he glanced at Maeve with measured calm. "She belongs to a very ancient order of men and women specialized in the art of combat and defense. She's one of the fiercest warriors you'll ever get to meet in your life. But don't let her ruthlessness impress you. Once you truly get to know her you'll soon discover she's got a soft heart."

Robin smiled at the woman with playful respect, but Leisa's features remained emotionless, her dark eyes riveted on Maeve.

"She can do magic, too," Leo added excitedly as he boasted Leisa's many abilities, completely oblivious to the growing tension between the two women standing across each other.

"Really?" Maeve lifted an eyebrow as she held the Radakeel's gaze with equal tenacity.

"In a manner of speaking," Leisa corrected Leo, but she was addressing only Maeve.

"That must come in handy," Maeve observed dryly.

"You tell me." Leisa's eyes were like two radar points looking right into Maeve's soul, scanning her spirit inside out. "You're a sorceress, too, right?"

It didn't even sound like a question, but rather an outward verification. "I am," Maeve answered simply, holding the Radakeel's penetrating gaze.

"Good," Leisa smiled satisfactorily. "What about fighting?"

"I can take care of myself," Maeve returned her tight smile to the woman.

"We'll see about that," Leisa said with anticipation, the corner her mouth curving up in a challenging smirk. She somehow looked like she approved of Maeve's strong character. "How about a little warm-up? I'm tired of fighting youngsters who've never seen blood and death in their lives. I could use someone who has."

Robin suddenly cut into the invisible tension. "Leisa, now is not the time to-"

"Excuse me, General, I was talking to her," the Radakeel interrupted him, averting her eyes away from Maeve for the first time to silently warn the General to stay out of her way. She made it clear with a single glare that whatever business she was undertaking by confronting Maeve like this didn't concern Robin.

"Very well," Maeve declared, accepting the other woman's challenge both because her pride simply wouldn't allow her to decline, but mostly because it seemed to piss Robin off royally.

She had no idea how Leisa knew that she was familiar with death and blood. True enough, Maeve's towering height gave her the solid frame fit for a warrior, but that didn't necessarily mean she possessed rutheless skills in battle like the ones her opponent seemed to master. After the impressive display she had witnessed in the courtyard where Leisa was training many men all at once, chances were Maeve was going to get her ass kicked within seconds, but she would be damned if she didn't go down without a fight.

"This should be interesting," Leo observed candidly, his young face lighting up with anticipation as Leisa walked away towards open ground.

"Or disastrous..." Mark mumbled under his breath.

Palms growing moist as she began to doubt her abilities to best a Radakeel in combat, Maeve noticed how uneasy and agitated Robin was becoming by the second, his body pulled taut like a rope and ready to snap, as if a sense of protectiveness was steaming off his skin.

When she met his eyes, he sent her a warning look, but it was too late for her to back down now.

Silently, she followed after Leisa as she headed for the closest area in the courtyard that was somewhat clear of training soldiers and volunteers. Maeve eyed the Radakeel with intent sharpness, studying her every move and wondering what kind of game the woman was playing and what her real intentions for challenging her like this truly were. Whatever it was, Maeve was determined not to be messed with.

When her opponent stopped a couple of feet before her, Maeve appraised the dark-skinned woman with a stern look. Legs apart as she stood straight and tall, Leisa crossed her hands before her waist and unsheathed two short, slender black sticks from her belt, the wands shining like obsidian glass and Maeve heard the sound of deadly magic crackle in the air around each weapon as soon as they were in Leisa's hands.

With the wave of one wand, the Radakeel motioned beside Maeve. "There's a set of daggers on that bench."

Carefully, eying the woman with grim suspicion, Maeve walked over to the chair and removed her jacket from her shoulders so it wouldn't hinder her liberty of movements. She then grabbed the two long daggers and flipped them in her hands. "What are those?" she asked, pointing her chin at the curious weapons in the woman's hands.

Leisa smirked with a silent promise. "You'll find out soon enough."

Maeve's suspicion flared up in a flash. Whatever the weapons' purpose was, they were definitely powered by some kind of magic but she was unable to detect its nature. Whatever it was, though, she made a mental note to avoid interfering with it.

As Robin and his companions gathered closer to watch them, a mix of curiosity and dread etched in their features, the Radakeel began pacing in a circle. Maeve followed the movement but in the opposite direction, gripping the hilts of the daggers firmly in her hands. She would have preferred to fight with a sword but there was no way she would voice that preference to Leisa. Rongar had taught her how to wield daggers in combat and she had practiced with him for hours on end. Still, a broadsword would have made her feel a lot more confident.

As the two of them paced in a deadly circle, silently studying each other's movements and trying to probe their respective weaknesses and strengths, Maeve shot out the entire buzz of the busy courtyard from her mind, only briefly taking note of the little crowd that had gathered close to watch the duel under the drumming afternoon sun. The last person she caught sight of was Robin, his small eyes brimming with desperate concern. After that, her attention was entirely riveted on Leisa.

Putting an end to the pacing, the Radakeel finally faced Maeve, standing in a firm and solid stance, and dug her piercing dark eyes deep into hers.

Time seemed to stand still, the courtyard turning awfully quiet.

Then, like a panther, Leisa bolted towards her.

Maeve drew in a sharp breath, and the dance began.

Deflecting the sudden assault, Maeve felt all her muscles and reflexes twitch as her entire body braced itself for the continuous series of attacks. Every fiber of her being coiled and snapped as hot blood rushed in her veins, like lightning flashes igniting all at once at the heart of a raging storm.

Around them, the crowd watched as the two women dove into a frightening clash of colliding weapons that swung and blocked and missed and twisted and slashed. Dust rose at their feet where they glided and side-stepped and kicked and slid and swirled.

Every movement Maeve made was in fluid continuity with every one of Leisa's deflections and vice-versa. They were waltzing together in a duel of equal strength and dexterity, with unyielding determination.

Leisa's black obsidian wands were crackling with magic as they sliced the air in unison with Maeve's daggers, searching for a weak opening in her defenses, and Maeve thought they looked like twin black vipers trying to dig their lethal fangs into her skin.

It then occurred to her that this was the second time today that she was caught up in a fierce battle; first this morning with the caravan of thieves and now, not long past noon, with a Radakeel who looked quite intent on teaching her a serious lesson. Maeve hadn't even been back into the real world for an entire day and this was the second time she was risking losing her head, not to mention all the potentially lethal circumstances she would yet have to face starting tomorrow at dawn when the trek into the Blind Mountains would begin.

At this rate, Maeve thought as she deflected Leisa's expert slashes and thrusts, chances were she would be dead within the week, either torn apart by a Skinwalker or drowned by a Kawassea.

As Leisa's hands slithered in the air before her, the woman gave her a crafty smile.

"Not bad. Not bad at all," she complimented Maeve, sly satisfaction coloring her voice. "You're strong and quick, your footing is sure, your aim is accurate and your puspose is deadly." Leisa's twin weapons crackled with a dreadful vibrating sound as they cut through the air and the woman's face turned cold as ice. "But can you endure pain?"

Puzzled by the question, Maeve deflected an unexpected low slash towards her waist, but with one swift move, before she even knew what was happening, Leisa gripped her wrist, side-stepped behind her and twisted her arm behind her back. The Radakeel then rammed the tip of one of her black wand right between Maeve's shoulder blades.

Maeve screamed as white-hot searing pain exploded down her spine, as if the marrow of her bones was being twisted out of its core through breaking bone, tearing muscle and burning skin.

"Leisa!" Robin shouted wildly.

Tears stung her eyes. The blazing, excruciating pain was blasting through her entire body, all the way down to her toes and up to the very center of her mind. She couldn't think anymore. There was nothing but the unbearable, indescribable pain tearing her apart from the inside.

"Leisa!" Maeve heard Robin shout again, his voice hard and booming across the courtyard.

She didn't even realize she was down on her knees, wincing and gasping in terrible, horrifying agony. It hurt so much. The pain was reaching beyond any possible worldly limits.

Leisa stood above her, her features emotionless and merciless.

Breathing hard, with her chest heavily rising and falling and with her teeth gritted so hard they were threatening to crack and break, Maeve shook under the insufferable sting of the blinding pain.

"What the hell is that!" she managed to utter between violent shivers of maddening agony.

"This is a Sleyan," Leisa explained, still pressing the horrible weapon in Maeve's back. "A very ancient weapon designed to give pain to anyone it touches, or, on the contrary, to remove it. It can hurt or it can heal, at my command. I could burn your flesh and break your bones if I wanted to right now."

Maeve thought she had already done so. It felt as if her spine had been twisted and crooked by a giant pair of hands. She stifled another scream against the overwhelming pain.

"Leisa, enough!" Robin shouted for a third time, and Maeve could hear the commanding authority in his voice, tangled up with desperate distress just below the surface. She wished he would come to her rescue, yet she would never forgive him if he did.

Leisa twisted her arm further behind her back and Maeve cried out.

"I'm just checking what she's made of, General," Leisa called out to Robin but her words were clearly intended for Maeve. "We're not about to frolic through a bunny-filled meadow; we're crossing the Blind Mountains. We need to be sure she won't run in the face of danger."

Trembling, feeling like her back was being shred to pieces, Maeve glared up at the woman towering above her as beads of sweat formed on her brow as she shook. " _I won't_."

Leisa leaned down to bring her ruthless dark eyes close to Maeve's face. "Prove it."

Maeve's breathing was ragged and clipped. She was shaking all over. It felt as if the sky itself had crashed down on her, crushing her with its infinite weight. The deft pain in her spine was spreading to her chest and her heart was violently trashing in her ribcage like a snake caught by the head. Her world had narrowed down to three simple things. Pain. Terror. Madness.

Then a dark thought struck her.

 _She was going to die_. This was where it all ended. She would die here in Kalladrell, on this forsaken, faraway island with grandiose architecture and strange people with cryptic behaviors. She would draw her last breath among a bunch of complete strangers she barely knew.

The pain was everywhere. On her burning skin, her tearing muscles, her breaking bones, even into the very core of her soul. Maeve wanted to die, to let death claim her with its peaceful void of darkness. Anything to escape this insufferable hell.

"Come on, prove it!" Leisa shook her, her horrible weapon still pressed between Maeve's shoulder blades.

As the pain besieged her completely, tearing her body asunder, Maeve's mind went to Sinbad, to that place in her heart where he had dug an endless hole and filled it up with broken dreams. His blue eyes danced in her blurring vision, like a flickering candle casting light in the shadows. She would give anything just to see him again one last time before everything went black. She would do anything just to catch a glimpse of his familiar face, just to hear her name whispered on his lips...just a glimpse, just a touch...

Her heart longed for him so much it hurt, like a hammer pounding iron in a blazing, angry forge.

_It hurt more than anything else._

No pain, not even the unearthly shockwaves of agony coursing through her entire being at the moment, could match the longing in her heart for Sinbad, for this man who had crawled under her skin so deeply she could never pull him out.

That's when Maeve felt the core of her spirit jolt.

The pain was everywhere, clawing at the last shred of her sanity like an hungry wolf. It was in her flesh, her bones, her core, her heart.

_But it belonged to her._

The heavy fog of numbing soreness that weighed on her mind suddenly seemed to slowly dissipate as her thoughts tumbled back into place clumsily. The rest of the world looked like it was emerging from a thick black veil of mist all around her. The sun was drumming on her head. The small pebbles of the courtyard's ground were digging in her knees. The soldiers and volunteers gathered around the fight were holding their breath. Robin's hands were fisted at his sides, helpless and stoically raging, as he waited apprehensively for the outcome of the daunting duel he couldn't interrupt.

Even as lucidity returned to her slowly, the reality of the physical pain became all too lurid as it roamed down her back and Maeve had to clench her jaw hard. That brutal and savage pain was the only thing standing in her way now. It was the only thing between her and salvation and she savagely refused to let it win and bring her down.

But most important of all, she would _not_ allow it to match the longing pain in her heart.

_That pain alone was hers._

The burning grief that consumed her for everything she had lost in that wicked storm, her friends, her brother, her home...that unbearable longing she felt for the sea blue eyes that sent her blood furiously boiling with regret, or heatedly pumping with devastating need, _that pain belonged to her and her only_.

Leisa had made a terrible mistake by trying to uproot it and substitute it for the barbaric, brutal pain of her Sleyan. _And she would pay for it._

Tangled up with the mind-blowing fire in her spine, anger blazed in Maeve's veins like the fires of the Wikken Hells. Calling forth all the strength left in her burning muscles, tapping into whatever inner force she still had left within her body, Maeve twisted around with a sharp pull and elbowed Leisa square in the face.

Caught by surprise, the Radakeel lost her grip on her arm and stumbled backwards.

The Sleyan's infernal touch left her skin.

It was like emerging from a deep pool of dark water and gasping for a breath of fresh air after your lungs had excruciatingly suffered its deprivation.

The crowd around the two women gasped at what was happening before their eyes.

As Leisa regained her balance, Maeve pulled herself back to her legs. All the joints in her body hurt like the creaking hinges of an old door. But she couldn't care less. Ignoring the remnants of the Sleyan's grisly powers, she charged Leisa without a moment's rest.

Daggers and Sleyans met in the air once more, colliding, deflecting, slashing, missing, twisting, thrusting.

Leisa expertly countered Maeve's sudden charge, but there was something different in her attitude. Whereas her face still showed an emotionless grim mask, which seemed to be her natural countenance, there was something missing now. The iron resolve that had been there at the beginning of the battle was gone, as if she had no reason to fight anymore. Whatever it was she had wished to accomplish, it was done.

Nonetheless, furious determination roared in Maeve's eyes. _She_ still had a reason to fight.

Deflecting a sideway slash from the other woman, Maeve whirled around and kicked Leisa behind the knee. The impact sent Leisa crouching halfway down and before she could recoil for another swift attack, Maeve blocked her upcoming thrust, sharply twisted the woman's wrist around and, wrapping her fingers over the woman's own grip on one of her Sleyans, Maeve jammed the tip of the dreadful weapon into Leisa's collarbone, to give her a vengeful taste of her own medicine.

But the scream that should've have escaped Leisa's lips never came, and Maeve could only frown in angry confusion.

Leisa looked up at her from under her eyebrows with a triumphant smile. "Only a Radakeel can wield a Sleyan."

Fire flashed in Maeve's eyes.

Furious that the woman was immune to the perverse and barbaric effect of her inhuman weapon which pain she dared inflict upon others, Maeve hauled and shoved Leisa to her feet and immediately charged her again.

The dance of colliding weapons continued, but Maeve, who had just been denied the vengeful taste of payback, had had just about enough of the Radakeel's game. With a skillful trick Rongar had taught her, after side-stepping, deflecting, turning and waiting for the opening she wanted, she suddenly wrenched a Sleyan out of Leisa's grip. The weapon's dreadful crackle of energy went dead as it thumped on the ground. Then, in the blink of an eye, not even giving Leisa a chance to realize what was going on, Maeve executed the same disarming trick but in reverse.

When the other Sleyan fell to the ground, Maeve stopped Leisa dead in her tracks by pressing the length of her dagger's blade firmly across the woman's throat.

Everything came to an grinding halt, the courtyard turning silent as a graveyard.

Breathing hard from the exertion of the headlong fight, Maeve dug her fiery eyes deep into the Radakeel's gaze. "Are you warmed up enough, now?"

Leisa held Maeve's unyielding glare with her natural stern look.

After an endless moment, silently acknowledging the victory to Maeve, she stepped back from the blade pressed across her throat, and her mouth curved into a witty smile. She called over her shoulder to Robin. "I like her!"

Then, with measured reverence, Leisa bowed her head down solemnly. "Welcome to Kalladrell."

All around Maeve, the crowd erupted in cheers and applause.


	13. Trust

**Chapter 9 - Trust**

The cheerful clapping continued until Robin took a step forward and commandingly addressed the crowd of soldiers and volunteers to calm them down. "Alright everyone, the show is over, get back to work!"

Obediently, whispering amongst themselves about the duel they had just witnessed between Maeve and the Radakeel, men and women slowly dispersed and went back to their respective tasks while Robin walked over to the two women.

He gave a sharp, pointed look at Leisa.

The Radakeel though, unflinching, tossed him a pointed look of her own. "You better take good care of her, General," she told him, tilting her head towards Maeve. Her comment almost sounded like a warning.

"Don't you have volunteers to train?" Robin's sharp gaze fixed the woman.

Leisa's mouth curved into a smirk. She dipped her head at the General and then addressed Maeve. "You can keep the daggers."

Before Maeve could figure out if she was supposed to say thank you, the Radakeel turned on her heels and strolled back to the group of men she'd been fighting with earlier, her mane of red braids swinging behind her.

Maeve watched her leave, unable to decide if she could trust the Radakeel or not. What had just happened between them was beyond her comprehension, no matter how hard she tried to understand the other woman's behaviour. Just thinking about the unearthly, mind and body-ripping pain of the dreadful Sleyan made her skin tingle with icy recollection. She never wanted to touch the terrible weapons ever again.

When Leisa was gone, Robin finally faced Maeve, somewhat hesitantly, handing her back her leather jacket through the veil of tension floating between them. He poked through it nonetheless, his husky voice thick with concern. "Are you alright?"

There was a softness in his words, soaked with guilt, as if he knew he should have told her the truth about who he was from the start. There was also a new uncertainty in his composure, as if he no longer knew how to act around her, as if the familiarity that had woven its way between them since this morning was gone. But he risked a move to touch her nonetheless, placing his hand tentatively at the small of her back to nudge her into motion.

Maeve allowed him to lead her away from the buzz of activity in the courtyard, still too shaken and unsettled by what had just taken place to push him away. Her breathing was back to normal, but the anger that had powered her final strikes in the fight was still steaming hot in her veins, along with the simmering feeling of betrayal she still felt towards him. Her patience was about to run short.

"What was that all about?" she hissed, anger sparking in her voice.

Robin walked her towards the flights of white stairs leading up inside the Council. "You just proved to Leisa you're worth her protection."

"Excuse me?" she snapped again, annoyed by the puzzling, nonsensical answer.

They stepped up the first flight of stairs to the first landing and then up the next flight towards the towering white marble columns shielding the massive double oak doors.

"Radakeels are ruthless killers but they are also remarkable protectors," Robin explained calmly. "Essentially, that's what they are: guardians, sworn by an oath to protect the person they are assigned to at all cost."

"You mean like some sort of bodyguard?" Maeve tried to make her annoyance cool down as she struggled to piece together what Robin was telling her. When they reached the grand doors, she slipped the daggers Leisa had offered her into her boots and wriggled her arms back into her jacket. She was glad to be armed with the weapons; it made her feel less vulnerable in this strange world filled with mysteries that no one wanted to explain to her. Knowing she could pull the daggers out at any moment if danger reared its ugly head was definitely a comfort she was glad to have.

"That's one way of putting it," Robin said as he pulled open one of the tall oak doors. "Once they have sworn their protection to someone, and especially if they consider that person worthy of their protection, they'll stop at nothing to keep them out of harm's reach, even it if it means giving up their own life."

When they slipped inside the Council into a large fore room of white granite floor with cushiony benches and chairs evenly spaced along the curved walls next to a few small tables holding vases of blooming flowers, Maeve grabbed Robin's arm and turned him to her. "Wait, you mean to tell me that now that I've earned Leisa's respect by defeating her in combat, she'll protect me with her life? That's absurd. Why would she do that? Why would she even want to confront a complete stranger just to see if that person was worthy of her protection? That doesn't make any sense."

Robin lowered his blue eyes at her words and placed his hand at the small of her back again, urging her forward down a broad hallway to the left. "Radakeels can have peculiar behaviors sometimes," he said, offering an empty explanation Maeve knew was anything but the truth, while they walked down a long corridor flanked on one side by a series of tall narrow windows with deep blue draperies hanging up high, with sunlight shining through on the granite floor at bright regular intervals.

"Alright, _enough_ ," Maeve snapped once and for all, like a twig finally breaking after bending too long and too hard. She stepped in front of him to block him resolutely, plunging her eyes deep into his blue ones as her voice took on a serious, heated edge. "I don't know what's going on here but you're going to explain it to me _right now_ ," she demanded firmly, harsh determination gleaming in her eyes. "Why is everyone looking at me the way they are, with such awe and wonder in their eyes? Why does every room I step into suddenly grows quiet as if a ghost had just walked in? _Why?_ " Maeve waved her arm towards the window next to them where they could see the courtyard. "Why did Leisa want to know if I was a sorceress? Why did she want to make sure I could fight? Why did she test me like that, as if she wanted to verify who I was? _What's going on?_ " She raised a warning finger between their faces before she steadfastly added, "And _don't_ say it's because of the color of my hair because we both know that's nothing but a cover up for the truth."

When she was done blurting out all the questions weighing on her mind, Robin regarded her carefully, his composure stiff as he drew in a breath to brace himself. "Whether you believe me or not, Maeve, red hair _does_ have an important meaning in Kalladrell."

"Which brings me back to my question," Maeve replied firmly. " _Why?_ "

"You wouldn't understand," Robin sighed wearily with a reluctant shake of his head, as if he didn't even know where to begin. "There's too much to explain and not enough time."

"What? What's that supposed to mean?" Maeve frowned in rising confusion and bubbling suspicion. Robin's words just proved to her that there was more to this than just her hair color, but still he was providing nothing but short, cryptic and elusive answers. It was driving her mad.

"Look, I know a lot of things have happened since this morning and that it all happened really fast," Robin started emphatically, his features softening. "You've been catapulted in a distant world with total strangers you're not yet sure you can trust and I don't blame you, considering what just happened with Leisa-"

"She almost _killed_ me," Maeve cut him off sharply.

"But she _didn't_ ," Robin insisted calmly. "And she wouldn't have."

"Right, because of my hair color," Maeve snorted sarcastically.

Robin sighed again heavily, wiping a hand across his face as he began pacing in front of her. He looked like he was dangerously close to reaching the end of his wits. "Do you trust me?" he asked her abruptly. "Have I given you any reason so far _not_ to trust me?"

Caught off guard by his sudden question, Maeve pressed her lips together firmly and looked away, anger seeping back into her skin as he cornered her with his words, but her stubborness took over and she quickly met his eyes again. The current of tension sizzling between them as they stood facing each other was almost visible in the air, like steam and smoke mingling together, and she didn't like it.

Robin had saved her life this morning in the woods. He had taken her back to his city, offered her a warm meal, bought her a fitting outfit for the trek through the Blind Mountains, an expedition he was allowing her to take part in so she could reach Dim-Dim's friend who needed her help. He had literally taken her under his protective wing the moment he met her. He was the General of an entire army, the figure of authority, security and protection of the city of Southampton. Thousands of people trusted him with their life, and after everything that had happened this morning, as hard as she tried to deny it, Maeve _did_ trust him in her own way. If there was but one person she knew she could trust on Kalladrell so far, it was Robin.

There was no doubt in her mind that the man before her was a man of courage and nobility, of generosity and justice, a man who protected innocents, righted wrongs and valued life, and as he patiently waited for an answer, she could see in his eyes the same selfless qualities she saw in Sinbad's eyes. Both men had amounted to being warriors of good, she could feel it...and yet she knew so little of Robin...who he truly was...he was still a complete stranger...

She let out a long, weary breath, her shoulders slacking as the anger and tension rooted in her muscles slowly dissipated. "No," she replied simply, her voice softening for the first time since the young soldier had unexpectedly revealed Robin's true rank in the courtyard. "I guess I _do_ trust you."

At her words, Robin leaned back a little on his heels, as if her honest admission rocked him with an invisible shove. Looking humbled and relieved, his small eyes forever grateful, he nodded solemnly. "Good." Then he stood tall like the General he was and risked a step closer to her, his body radiating with protection, his features suddenly deadly serious and his voice sharp as a blade. "Then trust me again when I tell you this: no one on this island is going to harm you, Maeve. No one will ever lay a finger on you. Not me. Not my friends. Not the Radakeels. _No one_."

A cold shiver travelled down her spine at the intensity of his declaration, and she had to swallow hard past the sudden twist in her throat. He was serious, _dead serious_ , and she couldn't fathom why. There was such a devoted passion shining in his hooded eyes that she could do nothing but believe him. She would be safe here in Kalladrell. She couldn't understand why these people would protect her without even knowing who she was, but right now she believed him.

"Looks like people with red hair around here are _very_ important," she commented with a small voice.

Robin smiled a little, although his features remained profoundly solemn. "You have no idea."

With the veil of tension easing off between them a little, and the previous familiarity settling in again, he gently nudged her forward to resume their march down the long corridor. "Come on, there's something urgent I have to care of."

Maeve went with him willingly, silently deciding that, even though many pieces of the puzzle were still missing, pieces that Robin obviously knew about but refused to tell her—why, she had no clue—she would agree to settle with what he had just given her for the time being. If she were to be safe here, then she supposed it was enough for her to go on at the moment. After all, she would be no use to Dim-Dim's friend, Jacob, if she was dead. More to the point, with the crossing of the Blind Mountains starting at dawn on the morrow, she could understand where Robin's priorities lay for the time being. It still frustrated her to be left in the dark like this but she bit her tongue quietly, shifting her attention to her surroundings instead.

When they reached the end of the long corridor of granite floor bathed in the sunlight of the tall narrow windows, Robin rounded a right corner where he yanked another door open, which revealed yet another hallway, this time shorter and with wood paneled walls on each side, and a richly green carpet that ran all the way in the center of the hall, muffling the sound of their boots as they walked. Maeve let her eyes wander on the walls where a variety of framed paintings were displayed, representing ancient battles and conquests, with knights and warriors in shining armours like gods descended from the Skylands upon the earth to drive back the forces of darkness.

As she truly began to take it all in, the elegance of the interior of the Council rendered her completely speechless. While everything had been exquisitely bright with sunbathed marble and polished granite in the round entry room and the first hallway Robin had lead her through, oil lamps with silver reflectors held in iron brackets now replaced the sunrays and cast warm golden hues on the richly wood-paneled walls they were passing by with their epic paintings.

There was something about this place...Maeve thought with a weird shrug, not just the Council of Southampton she was now discovering from the inside, but the Island of Kalladrell as a whole, that somehow kept her anxiously on edge with her nerves ready to crack, as if the entire land was vibrating with ancient history, _powerful_ history, with legends of old and their heroes ready to leap off the walls at any moment, like tormented ghosts yearning to finish unfulfilled destinies.

Yanking her eyes off the breathtaking and bone-shuddering sceneries of battle, when they reached the round-topped opening at the end of the hall, Maeve almost gasped when they emerged on the left side of a wide, enormous room.

As the thumps of their boots echoed again, marking the end of the long green carpet, Maeve's attention was immediately drawn to the impressive room in question to her right, where two sections of long polished wooden benches were separated by a middle lane that ran up to the front. There, in a section slightly elevated up a few steps, stood an imposing semi-circle table with a dozen chairs, and she reasoned that this was the main council chamber where audiences and assemblies of the city of Southampton were held.

As they marched down the left portion of that immense room, behind a small railing that reached up to Maeve's thigh and which purpose was to separate the side corridor from the benches, Maeve noticed that the ceiling above them was way lower than the ceiling above the long wooden seats. Craning her neck, she noted with bewilderment that the assembly room was topped up high by a massive glass dome supported by finely carved and sculpted marble arches, with the sun shining through the glass and lighting up the entire room with a bright glow.

Maeve also noticed that the second floor was entirely composed of big balconies with thick, hourglass-shaped railings that spanned all around the assembly, probably meant for citizens who wished to assist the Council's audiences. That's why the ceiling above their heads was low; they were marching under the length of the balconies.

Gaping in quiet wonder, Maeve would have loved to admire all the rich details of the bright white room but Robin was already leading her through another door and up a small stairway that spiraled up on itself like a pig's tail. He then took her down a long, wood-paneled corridor with decorative shields hung up on either side of a series of doors.

Marching across the white granite floor, Robin led her to the third door and held it opened for her.

Maeve walked in and was immediately stunned by what she saw; a breathtaking study in the middle of which stood a massive mahogany desk right in front of a high window framed by long green velvet drapes. Bulky bookcases rested in every corner, as well as glassed cabinets holding knives and swords.

Stopping next to a pair of cushioned chairs sitting around a three-legged round table holding a vase of fragrant wild orchids, Maeve marveled at the room. With a vibrant, strong and comforting aura, it clearly belonged to someone of important rank but despite its luxurious appearance, it still had a humble, austere and practical touch.

Robin walked over to the desk, which was submerged by a ton of paperwork. "It's on very short notice but I have to send a messenger as soon as possible to the blacksmith, Dave, so he can forge and deliver dozens of new chimes by tomorrow at dawn, if I can find the bloody permit..." he explained as he rummaged through the documents scattered on the desk and mumbled to himself. "The man is as greedy as they come, but unfortunately he's also the fastest smith in town..."

"Chimes?" Maeve asked a little-absent mindedly as she registered that this was Robin's office. "What do you need chimes for?"

Robin seemed to pause and bite his lips for a moment. "Err..they're a special kind of weapons."

"Huh-huh," Maeve nodded, but her attention was diverted somewhere else.

As Robin went back to shuffling through the mess of papers on his desk, her eyes fell on the leather-bound books all neatly lined-up in the bookcase to her left. Twisting her neck, she scanned the titles, which for the most part all bore reference to Kalladrell's topography and military tactics, while a few others spoke of past history and ancient battles; the Dark Wars, the Light Era...

Every title Maeve read served to remind her of how little she knew of the island she was on, of its history, its culture...Kalladrell was a complete mystery to her, and yet the more she discovered about its people, its grand architecture, its acceptance of magic, and its current crisis with the Blood Raiders attacking its shores, the more she wanted to learn about it. For a reason that escaped her, she somehow felt incredibly drawn to the island, as if something about Kalladrell felt oddly, distantly familiar...

But Maeve shrugged the feeling off and let her gaze wander to the other side of the room, where a large map in a wood-carved frame was displayed on the wall.

Her heart skipped a painful a beat, the prospect of finally being able to orientate herself in the world striking the air from her lungs. With hope wildly fluttering in her chest as she blindly wondered if she was close to a port the Nomad might know, she hurried over to the wall and her brown eyes immediately set to work, quickly adjusting to the style, colors and set of lines drawn on the map.

She felt her heart sink when she realized it was solely a map of Kalladrell, with only minor indications of what lay around and beyond the island; nothing of significant value to truly help her locate her whereabouts in the world beyond the edges of the map.

Still, Maeve managed to pinpoint her current location and decided it couldn't hurt to have an idea of the general layout of the land. Tucking a few loose strands of hair behind her ears, she leaned closer to the frame to take in as many details as she could.

The city of Southampton was in the lowest part of the island, way down in the south and sealed off by the ragged lines and rough edges of the daunting Blind Mountains that ran all the way from the eastern shore to the western one. They couldn't even be circled around because their rocky cliffs ended right where the ocean began, and Maeve could see that deadly reefs continued even into the water, making it extremely dangerous for ships to even attempt to sail in these areas. It was a miracle the villager from Denwood had made it through with only a little fishing boat, as Robin had told her earlier.

As it was, it seemed that Southampton was an isolated little appendix, but once on the other side of the Blind Mountains though, the rest of Kalladrell was huge. Maeve spotted Denwood, closest to the shore to the east, as well as a couple of other villages scattered at the foot of a widespread forest. At the opposite side to the west and a little bit up to the north was the city of Littleton, standing tall and proud on an elevated plateau, the central point around which sat another collection of small villages.

As Maeve's eyes continued their way up the map, virtually traveling ever more to the north, she finally spotted the important city of Erindale, where the Central Council of Kalladrell was seated. Its location, marked out with a big seven-branched star beside the name, was very peculiar and unlike anything Maeve had ever seen. It was sitting at the inner rim of an almost perfectly round bay which nearly sealed itself off, only letting a small passage for ships coming in from the sea beyond. But even then, Maeve doubted that ships could make it through without damage because another series of deadly reefs guarded the entrance to the bay. Only highly experienced sailors could _maybe_ succeed the deed in one piece, if they weren't suicidal.

As for the other side of Erindale, its inland side, it was no more impressive. The city was belted in by a layer of jagged mountains and thick forests, through which a complicated network of roads and passes seemed to weave their way inward and outward, going to and from the city. It was absolutely fascinating. From where it stood, the city was like a fortress, most likely impossible to besiege because of its specific location, and with what she had so far seen of Kalladrell, Maeve could only imagine the magnificent splendour of such a place, with even taller, towering buildings, exquisite architecture and elegant sculptures, and unrivalled grace and beauty. Marvelling at the map, she found herself wishing she would have the chance to visit the place someday.

Finally, at the north-west peak of the island, after an immensely vast plain and a few barren hills called the Hills of Avalis which were flanked to the east by the White Woods, was the concluding city of Norchester, with its thick defensive walls and searing towers.

And then there was something that didn't make sense.

All around the northern parts of the island, Maeve noticed that the edges were all cut short by rocky cliffs that seemed to go down at a straight angle into the sea below, and then, on the highest eastern peak, was a bridge. A slender, endless long bridge that hovered out above the sea, above a channel called the Han.

With a frown creasing her brow, Maeve's eyes followed the bridge as it travelled all the way across the wide expanse of water, for what she estimated was at least a good three miles, to reach the high rocky cliffs of the western edge of the island of Tyross.

Totally baffled, Maeve stared at the drawing on the map, wondering if what she was looking at really was a stone bridge or not. Common sense told her that it was wasn't, that it couldn't be, that such a thing as a bridge connecting two islands together was impossible, that the structure itself would surely collapse due to the distance it had to cover without proper support, but then her eyes fell on the words scribbled over the curious construction: the Han's Pass.

Frowning in confusion, she turned to Robin, who was still rummaging through the stacks of documents on his desk in rising desperation. "How is this possible?"

"What?" Robin mumbled, not even raising his eyes as he stubbornly searched for a specific paper.

Maeve pointed to the map even though he wasn't looking at her. "That stone bridge all the way to the north. How is such a thing possible?"

Finally raising his head up, Robin seemed to register her words as he took in where she was pointing. "The Han's Pass?" When she nodded, he briefly scanned a new pile of papers before continuing on with a shrug. "It was constructed by the wizards during the Dark Wars thousands of years ago, but no one really knows why. The debate as to the purpose of its creation still rages on..."

Maeve could only blink at Robin's words as they trailed off in the room. She recalled the book she had seen in the bookcase that was titled the Dark Wars. The magic of wizards surely explained how such a bridge could hold in place but still, she couldn't help but wonder at its practicality. "Is it still safe to use?"

Robin's eyes surfed on the papers in his hands. "Not really," he answered. "The Han's Pass is a very tricky, rocky and narrow place to travel on. Legend says that it's impossible to cross, that people fall down to their death into the Han even before reaching the middle of the bridge."

With such odds, Maeve could only imagine how narrow the bridge must be. "Have you ever been up there?" she asked.

As if sensing the curiosity in her voice, Robin raised his head to look at her again. "I've seen the place," he smiled at the memory, "but I didn't dare step on the thing lest it disintegrated under my weight. The pass is thousands of years old. Most people don't even venture close to it for fear the entire facade of the cliff might topple down."

When Robin went back to his desperate quest to find the document he needed, Maeve's her eyes went back to the map as she let the overall layout of Kalladrell imprint into her mind. She was about to turn her attention elsewhere when something ticked her off.

"That city," she pointed to the map again. "Littleton, on the other side of the Blind Mountains to the west. Why don't they bring aid to Denwood? They're closer than we are."

Robin began opening drawers from the desk. "They _are_ bringing aid," he assured her with confidence. "From what the surviving villager from Denwood told us two days ago when he arrived here, a few appointed people from his village, after the raid, fled to seek help in the different cities in the area. Littleton's troupes will most certainly already be there when we arrive. Because of the Blind Mountains in our way, it's no surprise we'll be the last ones to make it."

A small smile spread on Maeve's lips as she finally abandoned the map and walked over to the desk. "The people from Kalladrell seem to have a strong sense of solidarity and generosity."

Robin met her eyes and returned her smile. "Aye, we do. Kalladrell may be a big island with many cities and villages, but in the end we're all part of the same big family."

"Sounds like a great place to call home," Maeve mused out loud as her fingers fiddled with a pile of paper, memories of Eire suddenly flashing back to her, although calling the people of her homeland 'one big happy family' was far from adequate.

Robin seemed to read her mind as she grew silent. "The people in your homeland weren't as tightly knitted together?"

Maeve almost huffed at the idea. "People from the same village and clan, yes, but outside that virtual tribal community, everything is pretty fragmented. Clans constantly compete with each other over territory, cattle, gold…anything that can be fought over really, even women." Unpleasant memories of her father fighting against a giant mountain of a man with frightening tattoos painted all over his face filled Maeve's mind. The man's brutal clan had travelled through their village one afternoon and he had pillaged their home when Maeve, Dermott and their father were off at the lake for a swim. The brute had stolen one of her mother's most prized possession-her sword-and her father had burned with a rage as hot as the fires from an angry forge. He had challenged the brutal invader to a duel, to reclaim his wife's beloved weapon, and he had won the fight with baffling speed, killing the tattoed giant in no more than thirty seconds by cleaving off his head with his axe. Maeve would never forget the scene. She had been twelve years old, and Dermott had been eight.

Growing up, she had always found it odd that her mother wasn't buried with her sword when she died giving birth to Dermott, as was customary in the North, but her father would later explain that the sword itself was to be hers. It was the legacy her mother, which she had barely known, had left behind for her to have, a token of her sweet memory to protect her through the hardships of life.

Maeve had carried that sword at her hip ever since she was sixteen years old, the ghost of her mother silently watching over her, but sadly, the storm had severed that precious connection five weeks ago. She could only hope the crew would take good care of it while she was gone, that someone would keep it sharp...

Her thoughts momentarily flicked to the Nomad, but Robin's words quickly brought her back to his office. "I take it you're from the North, then?"

Maeve blinked at him, surprised that he was able to identify her origins based on the customs she had vaguely described. "I am."

But then she quickly shrugged the whole subject away, disliking the unpleasant memories it was stirring inside her, like the cursed raid Rumina and her father had conducted on her village so many years ago, destroying what was left of her family by slaying her father and dooming her brother to live the life of a hawk. She stubbornly shook the wicked memories aside and instead swiftly redirected the conversation down another path, jumping on the occasion to confront Robin on his glaring omission all morning about his rank in the army.

Crossing her arms on her chest as she casually walked back to the three-legged table with the blossoming orchids, as if needing to create an emotional wedge between herself and Robin, she stood tall and faced him fully. "So, _General_ , is there anything else you failed to mention about yourself that I should know about?" She bit on his title on purpose, sinking her teeth into the pang of betrayal she had felt in the courtyard, then she crowned her inquiring question with the accusing quirk of an eyebrow.

From his slightly bent position over his desk where he was still intently searching for a specific document, Robin's hands stilled in their quest and his entire body stiffened, like a deer cornered by a wolf. He closed his eyes momentarily, well aware that he had no way out this time, then straightained up beind his desk before meeting her gaze sheepishly, a sad smile curving his lips. "I used to live in Erindale before moving down to Southampton," he began softly, his eyes gleaming with an apology for everything he had neglected to tell her about himself, shame and guilt etched in his brooding features while his fingers absently toyed with the corner of the paper he was holding. "I joined the army when I was fifteen, completed my training as a young lad mostly shy and solitary, and to my surprise, ten years later, the other soldiers somehow deemed me decent enough to select me as the General of the Southern Forces, a post that had just been vacated after the death of the previous officer." He shook his head regretfully as he seemed to recall the memory, and then something bittersweet laced itself in his husky voice as he continued. "I never wanted to be more than a simple solider...I never wanted any of this..." His blue eyes trailed around his study aimlessly, brushing on the bookcases and glassed caninets, his cluttered desk and the sheet of paper in his hand. "I only wanted to serve and protect...like my father." He quietly declared, a sullen look drawing his brow down for a moment, as if haunted by old ghosts, until he quickly drew in a breath and spoke again calmly. "Only problem is, here in Kalladrell, when someone is elected by the people's vote of confidence, let it be to represent them at the Council or serve as their leader in the army, they cannot back down or reject their election. I was left with no choice but to do my best to live up to everyone's expectations for the past ten years, the council and the army constantly surprising me with my re-election."

The silence in the room was heavy when he stopped talking, the walls almost closing in on them, and Maeve had a hard time finding her voice.

Saddened by his tale and by how unworthy he seemed to feel about the responsabilities that were repeatedly bestowed upon him, she poked at the subject hesitantly. "You make it sound as if the people are making a mistake by choosing you as their protector."

The sad smile returned to his lips. "I used to think so," he admitted with blank honesty, not even trying to deny it, then he dropped the piece of paper he was still clutching down on the numerous piles and circled around to the front of his desk to lean his back against it, crossing his arms over his chest as he fully faced her. "I didn't feel worthy of any of it. _I still don't,_ " he revealed boldly, sharing with her this small demon that lived within the depths of his core, feasting on his self-confidence. "When people look to you for protection, there's no room for mistake, no room for doubt, no room for fear, otherwise people get killed. Everyone expects me to protect them, and I'm simply terrified to fail them...terrified to lead them straight into harm's way."

Maeve swallowed hard at his words, simple words that rang with a truth sharp as steel and that resonated deep within her. She couldn't comprehend how the man standing before her, with such goodness, honour and courage in his veins could feel such doubt and fear over his own capabilities. She had seen him in action, either with words, a simple glare or with a sword in hand, and he was formidable, his mere presence immediately striking a sense of safety within anyone close by, first of all _herself_.

And yet she couldn't help but know exactly how he felt. Leadership was a heavy crown to wear, and she was glad her head was free of such a burden. Carrying Dermott's fate was more than enough as it was, her repeated failures to save him clawing at her insides everyday like a bitter poison. She couldn't even begin to imagine what it must feel like to be responsable for the safety of an entire city like Robin was constantly chosen to do, but while he may feel utterly inadequate to the task, there was no doubt in her mind that he was perfectly suited for the job.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked again, her voice soft and devoid of any accusation as she quietly appraised him, this stoic, brooding man who seemed humble to a fault.

"I didn't want to intimidate you," he admitted sheepishly, casting about to find the right words to say. "You had a lot to process this morning and I thought...I figured you could use a little bit of normalcy for a while, a _normal_ friend to count on before being tossed into a bunch of strangers."

Maeve huffed a soundless laugh at his frank answer, a small smile stretching her lips while their gazes locked across the distance separating them. With the thick silence settling back in the room, although calm and light this time around, seconds ticked away in one of those arresting moment where there was nothing but a wordless understanding that passed between them, the previous cloud of betrayal slowly melting away.

"Thank you," she finally spoke, breaking the silence. "I suppose I do owe you for everything you did for me this morning, although..." The corner of her mouth curved into a smirk as she allowed herself to tease him, biting into his title again but playfully this time around, hoping to lift his usual brooding mood. "You should know, _General_ , that in my past travels I've often been in the company of kings and queens. Trust me, it takes a lot to intmidate me."

Robin appraised her quietly, looking for a moment as if he was carefully storing this new piece of information about her into organized folders inside his head, then his lips stretched into a small smile that matched her own, with his blue eyes soft and warm like the sky after a storm. "I'll keep that in mind."


	14. The Raid

**Chapter 10 - The Raid**

After fifteen minutes of rummaging through the cluttered pile of paperwork on Robin's desk to find the document that had to be signed by a greedy blacksmith named Dave concerning the new shipment of chimes, Maeve finally found the precious piece of paper he was looking for, hidden away in the back of a disordered drawer.

Robin had excused the chaos in his office by blaming it on the fact that he always stepped in and out so quickly that he often only had time to drop things on his desk with no time to classify anything. When Maeve had asked him why no one could catalogue and organize the mess for him while he was busy, Robin had answered that he preferred to do things his own way, and that he didn't like it when people snooped around his things. Maeve couldn't blame him for that. She probably would feel the same way. Still, it was a wonder he could find anything at all on his desk.

They were finally on their way back to the courtyard, with Robin leading her down the spiraling staircase and then back into the impressive dome-shaped Council room, when they were intercepted by a duo of elderly men in light brownish robes.

"Robin!" one of them called out from across the large empty assembly, behind the railing on the opposite side of the room.

Robin stopped dead in his tracks at the sound of his name echoing off the granite walls, and with the way his shoulders tensed under his blue shirt, Maeve could cleary detect his stifled groan of weariness as he reluctantly back-tracked in his steps and circled around the railing to meet the two men in the center of the council, right in front of the elevated semi-circle table that stood overlooking the lines of benches.

Maeve hesitantly followed after him but then stopped at the end of the railing, deciding to remain under the balcony to watch the little interlude from afar, instead of stepping under the wide glassed-dome and directly meet the curious duo. Robin would probably dismiss the men quickly anyway, since he was in quite a hurry to have the new shipment of chimes delivered before dawn, whatever purpose they were supposed to serve during the trek. Besides, she was tired of constantly being introduced to new people. She hadn't quite adapted to her new environment yet and meeting strangers every other hour was dizzying.

The two men were wearing light brownish robes, with one side flipped over the other on the front and fixed with a large dark brown leather belt. Matching that specific color, the rims around their collars and around their sleeves were decorated with strange silver symbols that curved and twisted at regular intervals. There was not a single weapon on the men yet Maeve could sense strong magic emanating from them; good, powerful magic. It dawned on her that these two men must be the wizards assigned to protect and watch over Southampton like Robin had informed her of earlier. Perhaps _they_ could provide her with some answers...

Watching them with growing interest, her feet itching to step forward and ask all the questions that were suddenly roaring inside her head like a windstorm, she noted the specks of white in their tousled hair, the vigorous sparks of strength and youth shining in their eyes, and the kindness and warmth engraved in the nobility of their features. The two elders also looked quite out of breath as they finally reached Robin in the middle of the assembly.

"Finally! We've been looking all over for you!" one of them exclaimed as he waved his hand in the air to indicate the maze of passageways and halls and corridors branching everywhere in the Council.

"We heard you found-" the other man began but his voice trailed off abruptly when his gaze settled on Maeve over Robin's shoulder, his entire face freezing as he stared at her wide-eyed. "Dear spirits…"

The other man ducked his head past Robin to follow his companion's gaze and his mouth gaped open as well. "By the stars, it _is_ true..." he whispered in utter bewilderment.

Shoulders sinking down heavily, Robin turned around to face her quite unwillingly, meeting her gaze with a wordless, pleading apology. He then extended his arm towards her, grudginly presenting her for the umpteenth time this morning. "Wizard Adam, Wizard George, this is Maeve Kalleeryen."

Half-reluctantly, briefly searching Robin's eyes, Maeve took a step forward and was instantly met with kind, warm smiles from the wizards as they worked past their initial stupor and seemed to ease back into their natural, humble countenance, but not without the persistent glaze of wonder in their eyes.

"My Lady, it is a pleasure to meet you," Wizard George beamed at her with a small bow of his head while Wizard Adam, nesting his hands in the opposite sleeves of his robes, did the same.

"And I you," Maeve returned their smiles politely, wondering once again where this ludicrous bewilderment about her presence was coming from.

"You have no idea how good it is to have you back in Kalladrell again," Wizard Adam said with great relief. "Your return is a spark of light in the middle of this gathering darkness. It was about time Wizard Galen found you and sent you home."

"Galen?" Maeve frowned in puzzlement at the unfamiliar name. "You must be mistaking me for somebody else, sir. I don't know anyone by that name and I'm afraid I've never been to Kalladrell before." She tossed Robin a puzzled glance which he briefly returned before pressingly addressing the wizards again.

"We need to talk," he stepped in and gave the men a pointed look that clearly warned them to back off before they went too far.

But Wizards George, somewhat stunned by her denial, didn't comply and pressed again instead. "Are you sure?" he asked almost alarmingly, fixing his gaze on her. "You've never heard the name before?"

"I'm afraid not," Maeve shook her head again in negation, wondering just who this mystery man they were talking about could be.

Wizard George shared a troubled look with his companion. "But if Galen didn't send her here, then it must have been-"

"But that's impossible," Wizards Adam cut him off squarely. "He couldn't have sent her here after what happened to him."

Growing quietly agitated by the minute, Robin stepped in again. "Alright, listen, we're kind of in a hurry so-"

"Wait," Maeve cut him off, suddenly very interested in the wizards' exchange, alarm bells ringing in her head like a thundering choir. "Are you talking about Master Dim-Dim?"

The entire Council room seemed to freeze in place, the name she had just spoken out loud echoing off the walls like a mighty lightening strike, and she was shocked to see an immediate spark of recognition in the men's eyes.

"It cannot be…" Wizard Adam stared at her, the color draining from his face. "He's the one who sent you here?"

Maeve took an eager step forward. "You know him?" she asked, completely stunned. "You know Master Dim-Dim?"

"Of course, we know him," Wizard George declared almost grumpily. "Every wizard in Kalladrell knows him."

"Especially after what he did," Wizard Adam added sourly. "Galen must be furious."

"We really should be going now," Robin gently grabbed her arm to tug her along but Maeve stubbornly shrugged him off, her thoughts in a wild uproar at the notion that Dim-Dim was well known throughout the entire island which was something he had clearly, and intentionally, failed to mention to her.

"What are you talking about? What did Dim-Dim do? Who is this Galen?" she asked, her curiosity burning stronger with every question while she ignored Robin's restless pacing beside her as he seemed to be as shocked as she was about the turn of events.

The two wizards opened their mouths to speak but then caught Robin's raptor gaze that warned them to shut up sooner rather than later. Maeve sent him a withering look in return but to no effect; Robin literally looked like he was silently begging the wizards not to address the matter any further, a request the stunned duo finally seemed to heed, much to Maeve's dissatisfaction.

An uncomfortable silence settled in the grand domed room then, weighting between the four of them for a moment, until the wizards finally attempted to dismiss her concerns with cautious words.

"Perhaps now is not the best time to address such complicated matters," Wizard George kindly offered. "It's all boring political quarrels really, and from such a long time ago. I'm sure there's no need to trouble you with such things at the moment."

" _Try me_ ," Maeve insisted firmly, eyeing the three men in the room mistrustfully, and knowing fully well that Robin was trying to limit the amount of answers the wizards could provide her.

Wizard Adam cleared his throat awkwardly. "Our friends in the Central Council in Erindale will be much better suited to answer all your questions, my dear, provided you reach the city in prime condition, safe and sound and in one piece."

This time the wizards leveled their sharp gazes on Robin, silently burdening him with the importance of her safety, which had Maeve yet again furrowing her brow in confusion as to why she should need such protection, to reach a city that wasn't even part of Dim-Dim's mission in the first place.

Robin stopped pacing at once under the stares of the mighty wizards, his back straightening and his raptor blue eyes turning solemn. "She will cross the Blind Mountains unharmed, sir. You have my word."

"We do not doubt your word, General," Wizard Adam replied amiably, although a crease of concern formed on his forehead nonetheless. "But the woods are growing rather treacherous and unpredictable nowadays; perhaps the situation calls for a travel vial-"

"A travel vial?" Maeve huffed, nearly barking out a laugh. "I'm not using those things again anytime soon."

"You've used one before?" Wizard George blinked at her.

"It's how I got here," Maeve replied with a nod, and a bitter taste in her mouth. "It dropped me off miles off course and three weeks late."

"There must have been a slight defect in-"

"Exactly. I'm not using one again," Maeve cut him off firmly before he could drawl on with an explanation she had no need nor desire to hear.

"I can assure you she will be safe, sir," Robin stepped in once more, repeating his vow again with unwavering conviction to sooth the wizards' worry.

But Maeve was not the least bit impressed by this assurance of protection. Robin's commanding presence and strenght might make her feel safe, but being repeatedly and deliberately kept in the dark was a nasty stain on that feeling of security. She wanted answers, and she wanted them _now_.

" _Alright_ ," she declared harshly, leveling a square look at the three men standing before her. "Someone is going to tell me what the hell is going on, and that someone better start talking _right now_."

Robin and the two wizards watched her quietly, awkwardly sharing sideway glances between each other as if juggling with an imaginary ball until someone would be brave enough to flung it back to her so she could catch it.

But the ball was never thrown. Instead, when Robin finally dared to look straight at her, it was with a pair of clear blue eyes reflecting an empathic and sheepish glow.

"Will you excuse us for a moment?" he asked the wizards calmly, his voice low and resonant. "I'll be back shortly."

"Of course," Wizard George reverently bowed his head, a subtle slack of relief visible in his slouching shoulders as he retreated.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, my Lady," Wizard Adam quickly beamed and dipped his head as well before following his companion.

"Now, wait a minute-" Maeve's lips parted, sharp words lining up on her tongue to protest that she wasn't done with her questions, but Robin firmly grabbed her arm to steer her away from the Council room.

At that moment, right then, one could have heard her patience snap in two like the crack of a whip.

Before Robin could even take a step, she roughly yanked her arm out of his grasp, her eyes flaring and her anger sparking in her blood like blazing embers.

"What in the _Wikken Hells_ do you think you're doing?" she hissed at him like an angry snake, struggling to control her rising temper as he stepped back to give her some space.

He raised his hand in a pacifying manner, a vain attempt to calm her down as he spoke with a dejected sigh. "Trust me, you do not want to deal with wizards right now."

"Maybe I do!" Maeve snapped back with venom, her voice rising as the confusion swelled inside her once again about his cryptic behaviour to keep her away from the truth. "Since you're so unwilling to give me the answers that I want, they looked more than happy to provide them in your stead!"

"We don't have time!" Robin argued back, his own temper suddenly flaring in the depth of his blue eyes. "We're leaving tomorrow at dawn and right now the ramifications of your presence here in Kalladrell are not subjects we have the luxury to address!"

"So they _do_ know what's going on!" Maeve observed sharply, pointing across the room to where the wizards had disappeared, and then back at him. "And you know, too!"

"I don't!" Robin snapped loudly, matching her rising voice, but he quickly shut his eyes close and heaved a sigh to gather his composure. Lips pressing together in a tight line, he turned his gaze away with a regretful shake of his head. "I do know some things..." he corrected himself softly, unable to look at her as the shadow of shame and the weight of duties fell over his brooding features. "The wizards know a lot more, that's for sure, but all of that doesn't change the fact that it's a long, complicated story with details we don't have time to delve into right now. Please."

Maeve maintained her hot glare on him, appraising the honesty in his eyes and the quiet plead in his deep voice, but she stubbornly refused to give in just yet. "Do you know my mentor, too? And this Galen guy?"

"No, I don't. I'm no wizard," Robin admitted, holding her gaze with genuine sincerity. "And I swear I had no idea your mentor would actually have connections here in Kalladrell. All I know is that we don't have time to address all these issues now. Please."

At his repeated appeal, Maeve pressed her lips together angrily and looked away, swallowing up angry retorts, and torn between stepping right past him to get the answers she wanted, or just letting it go again. What on earth was so complicated with the situation that they couldn't cope with it right now? "This is ridiculous..." she sighed dejectedly. How many times were they going to have this bloody conversation, turning around in cirle with her seeking answers and him refusing her again and again?

" _Please_ ," he pleaded again calmly, echoing her thoughts as he risked a step closer to her. "I'm just trying to make things easier for you, and for the rest of us for that matter. Our main concern right now is the crossing of the Blind Mountains and the safety of the three hundred men, women and children I've got out there." He pointed to the end of the room, beyond which lay the soldiers' compound where all those people were about to risk their lives to aid their companions in the ruins of Denwood. "You'll get your answers, I promise. But not now. _Please_."

With a half-glare, Maeve brought her gaze back to him, to his beautiful blue eyes silently pleading her to trust him again, her fiery resolve once again sliced in two by his infuriating honorable motives and his devotion to the safety of his people. Her heart trashed in her chest as she tried to hang on to her own problems, the mission Dim-Dim had entrusted her with. She felt like a lion abruptly locked in a cage, roaring and clawing between the emprisoning bars, a pointless fight until someone opened the door.

She cursed Dim-Dim silently, infuriated that he would choose to withold so much information from her and simply toss her into this far away world so ill-prepared. _Damn him_. What was it everyone refused to tell her? What was so inconvenient about it? What was so dangerous about it?

"When?" she demanded coldly, eyes sharp as steel.

Robin held her unyielding gaze, quietly considering his answer before he spoke carefully. "When we reach Denwood, I'll tell you everything I know," he declared calmly. "You have my word."

Silence stretched on again, a cloud of dark smoke invisibly hanging between them and loaded with everything left unsaid as she appraised him and his offer.

A month. She would get her answers in a month, after they crossed the treacherous Blind Mountains and she hopefully met Jacob before it was too late. Wasn't that the whole point of her journey here anyway? To find Dim-Dim's friend and protect him before some dark prophecy could be set into motion?

" _Fine_ ," Maeve reluctantly agreed, exhaling through her nose in frustration. Perhaps it was simply best if she stuck to the original plan without straying off the road, regardless of the intriguing bits of secrets that sprouted in her way to lure her deeper off course.

Out the corner of her eye, she watched as Robin let out the breath he had been quietly holding, his shoulders slacking in grateful relief as the thick tension between them slowly began to ebb away once more.

Then, as if sensing her desire to focus on something other than all the mysteries of her presence in Kalladrell and her mentor's mysterious secret agenda, he expertly changed the subject with encouraging words. "The villager who came from Denwood to seek our aid, his name is Robert Thomet. Maybe he knows about the man you're trying to help. He should be somewhere in the courtyard if you wish to speak with him."

Still angry at being brushed off so easily, Maeve uncrossed her arms, shifting on her feet, and tried to consider the alternative he was offering her. Considering Dim-Dim had sent her here specifically to save his prophet friend, who may not even have survived the raid, perhaps this Robert Thomet could shed some light on the odds of his survival.

"I guess it's worth a shot," she answered with another long sigh, only momentarily throwing a resentful look over Robin's shoulder to glance at the two wizards standing at the far end of the domed council and waiting for him so they could 'talk' about the whole situation.

Robin forced a sheepish smile. "Thank you," he said lowly, holding her gaze with noble sincerity. "I'll see you in a couple of hours." And with that he detached himself from her and walked back over to the duo of awaiting wizards.

Maeve watched him leave with quiet bitterness, something dark and foul rising within her as she thought about everything that had happened since this morning, every step she had taken on the soil of this distant island uncovering a series of mysteries she hadn't even the slightest grasp on. She suddenly felt the urge to scream at the top of her lungs, to relieve the overwhelming tension that had rooted itself in every fiber of her body, but she reined in the impulse and instead turned on her heels to head out of the Council room and make her way back to the courtyard, the afternoon sun blinding her as she pushed open one of the mighty oak doors.

While soldiers and volunteers were still intensely training at sword fighting, archery and hand combat, the courtyard now housed two wagons stationed near the left portcullis, where crates and sacks and barrels were being unloaded. She figured it was the last of the food provisions Simon had mentioned earlier.

As she descended the two large flights of marble stairs, she spotted the blond-haired captain amongst the women and the other volunteers who were helping to sort and divide everything into smaller sets so that everyone could carry something during the trip.

When she neared the little inventorying group, Simon's face lit up when he saw her. "Maeve!" He smiled genuinely, but then a frown creased his brow as he searched over her shoulders. "Where's Robin?"

"With Wizards George and Adam," Maeve replied, working hard to hide the bitterness in her voice. "Then he has to pay a visit to Dave for the chimes. He said he would be back in a few hours."

"Oh, I see," Simon nodded, hauling a crate out of the wagon and setting it on the ground next to the others. "Well, is there anything I can do for you in the meantime?"

Maeve tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, going straight to the point. "I'm looking for the villager from Denwood; Robert Thomet?"

"Yes, I saw him just a few moments ago." After placing a basket of apples with the other crates of fruits, Simon motioned for a young lad to take his place by the wagon to unload the rest of the provisions, and then joined her side. "Follow me."

As the army's captain led her through the crowd of training soldiers and volunteers, Maeve caught sight of Leisa teaching a bunch of men the rudiments of hand combat, just like she'd been doing the first time she saw her. Her braids were whipping the air around her as she deflected all their attempts to bring her down. Watching the feline Radakeel in action almost brought a wince to Maeve's face as she remembered all too well the sickening pain her dreadful Sleyans had inflicted upon her earlier that day.

At the edge of the courtyard to the right, Simon pointed to a group of men practicing their archery skills, shooting arrows in round targets and dummies made out of hay. "See the tall, rugged-looking man with the black beard? That's him. Robert Thomet."

Following where he was pointing with his finger, Maeve spotted the man he was talking about, a tall archer in his fifties, his broad shoulders and heavy frame quite difficult to miss. "Thank you," Maeve smiled, grateful for Simon's help.

"Anytime," Simon returned her smile in kind, slightly dipping his head in reverence before going back to the wagons near the portcullis at the other end of the courtyard.

After silently standing to the side and watching the archers practice their aim for a few minutes, all the while observing that Robert Thomet was not only a strongly built man with a solid bulk but also a remarkable shooter, Maeve finally stepped up to him when his quiver was empty.

"Robert?"

The dark-bearded man turned his head at the sound of his name. When he saw her, he immediately bowed his head in deference, his voice deep and strong. "My Lady."

Unsettled by his mark of respect for her, Maeve quickly gathered her composure with a warm smile. "My name is Maeve. I was wondering if I could ask you a question, about the raid and the people in your village."

When Robert lifted his head up again to look at her, Maeve noted that his right cheek sported a deep, slowly healing scar, which he had most likely gotten during the raid. "Of course. Anything, my Lady. But there aren't much of them still alive." Sadness filled his deep green eyes, blending with a smoldering anger right beneath the surface as he walked to the columns surrounding the courtyard on the side, to a nearby bench in the shadows. The spot was protected from the harsh afternoon sun and offered a little bit of quiet from the military training all around. He leaned his bow on the side of the bench and took his gourd for a sip of water.

With her heart silently breaking, Maeve could only imagine what this man had gone through in the past few weeks, what with the horrible raid his village had suffered from and then his perilous trip around the rocky bay to reach Southampton. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "Did you lose members of your family?"

Sitting down heavily on the small stone bench, Robert clenched his jaw firmly, a veil of deep sorrow and painful grief falling on his hard features. "My wife. They raped her before my eyes," he revealed, his voice harsh and dark with the heavy burden of awful memories. "I killed as many of them as I could, but I was too late."

Maeve's heart sank at his words, horror seeping into her soul as she hesitantly sat down next to him. "I'm so sorry."

Robert silently accepted her sympathy but the darkness in his eyes didn't go away. "If I ever get my hands on those bastards I will skin them alive and make them scream for days on end until their blood accounts for all the people they savagely slaughtered," he declared vehemently, vengeance echoing in his voice like deep resonating bells calling for death as he quietly relived the horrors of the raid that had destroyed his village. "It was Cassidy, Simon's wife, who saw them first from the beach, their black sails on the horizon, like dozens upon dozens of small dots coming closer and closer on the dark waves. She ran back to the village with her crying daughter and we sounded the alarm immediately, panic and terror exploding in our midst for we had heard of the carnage these men had done here in Southampton a few months ago. Everyone began to flee to safety as fast as they could but by that time the wind had already sped the Blood Raiders' progress considerably, and we could hear them howling and growling like demons from the Wikken Hells as they landed on our shores, their black sails billowing in the wind like death itself. Our people were still gathering children in the streets to barricade themselves in their homes and their cellars, or escaping to the forest and the hills to hide, when they flooded our village like ants, an army of dogs dressed in hides and black leather armors with deadly tattoos darkening their features as they screamed and waved their battle-axes in the air. They hacked down everything that moved in their way, grabbing children and slitting their throats or snapping their necks, hauling women by the hair to collect them in the village's main square, pulling our elders from their houses and mauling them to death with clubs. Our men tried to fight them back but we were outnumbered twenty to one, and simple pitchforks are useless against an army of swords and brutal force. Our homes were burning, our cattle were being slaughtered and our women were being raped. I tried to fight my way through the ocean of destruction to get to my wife like all the other men but they wouldn't let us. They gathered us in the main square so we could watch it all instead. _And then he came._ " Robert paused, his brow drawing down darkly over his green eyes as he seemed to watch the scene all over again on the ground in front of them, and with her eyes wet with tears, Maeve suddenly felt a shiver run down her spine. "Commander Sarkin is how they addressed him I think, with his short, pale blond hair all neatly parted on the side as if the man was on his way to a fancy military banquet, with his leather armor all polished and gleaming. He just stood there, watching us all as we bled and died on the ground. I'll never forget the eyes of the bastard; a blue so pale they looked frozen like ice, and twice as cold. He just watched us as the carnage and the raping went on and on and on. Until he snapped his fingers. Then the Raiders brought one of the women to him, it was the baker's daughter, she was just a girl, barely sixteen years old. Her dress was already half ripped off her body and she was bleeding and crying. They threw her at his feet and he looked down at her as she trembled, the way you assess a piece of meat before buying it, and the most horrible smile appeared on his cold face. 'Don't cry' he said. 'I want to hear you scream'."

Maeve felt the hair at the back of her neck prickle as she listened to the nightmarish story, watching Robert's face as he was still lost in the terrible events.

"He signaled a random Raider to come forward and the brute knelt down by her side. I thought he was going to rape and kill her, but instead, at Sarkin's command, he took her hand and broke all her fingers one by one, bending them back at the joints. The girl screamed. We could hear the bones popping in her hands. Then he broke her wrists, her elbows, each time bending everything in the wrong direction while Sarkin pointed at the joints he wanted him to snap. He broke every bone in that young girl's body, and when he was done with her she looked like a ragged doll on the ground, all torn and broken and covered in blood and mud. I can still hear her scream inside my head…her bones popping one by one…" Robert's voice trailed off, heavy and haunted, and all Maeve could do was stare at him wordlessly through her blurry vision, horrified by the tale of such sick torture.

"Sarkin never once touched her. He just stood there and watched as that Raider did his bidding. Then he just walked away," Robert said blankly. "The bastard just strolled in our streets and contemplated the work of his men. I was on my knees in the main square and my wife was being raped in front of my eyes and I could do nothing about it. A blade at my throat and my head held back so I couldn't look away, I was helpless. The only thing I could do was memorize the face of the Raider who was holding her down, that monstrous half-tattooed face with a scar right under his left eyebrow, running to his temple. When he was finally done with her, he looked me straight in the eyes, grabbed her hair and roughly pressed his mouth to hers to kiss her. I was shaking with rage but I couldn't move. And then he killed her; brought his dagger to her throat and slit it open. With that wild terror shining in her beautiful eyes, the last thing she saw was me."

Maeve felt a tear run down her cheek as Robert quietly clenched his jaw and fisted his hands on his thighs, the muscles flexing in his arms as if he wanted to punch something out of sheer fury.

"When they finally released me, I ran to her and cradled her in my arms, but it was too late. She was gone," Robert whispered painfully. He paused for a moment, swallowing hard to compose himself. "I went into a fit of blind fury. I got to my feet and snapped the neck of the first Raider I saw, I took his sword before he even hit the ground and I cut as many of them down as I could, spilling their blood at my feet as I desperately searched for the scarred-face Raider so I could kill him with my bare hands. But one of them bastards rammed the pommel of his battle-axe in my face and I collapsed. But I still managed to see what was going on. They threw a few torches in the last houses nearby, stole most of our food and provisions, kicked a few of our men down and captured the youngest, and then Commander Sarkin called them off and they all left, just like that, not even bothering to kill the last of us."

Robert shook his head grimly and gritted his teeth. "I may be alive today but I am no survivor. I didn't earn my life by defeating any of those dogs. They simply decided to let us live, to let us endure the pain they were leaving behind in their wake."

Maeve tried to blink her tears away and gather her composure, but surfacing from the tale of the terrible raid was much harder than she thought it would be. "I'm so sorry, Robert." It was all she managed to whisper as she looked at the broken man beside her.

After a moment, after the misty memories of his nightmare slowly faded away, Robert straightened up on the bench and cleared his throat. "Forgive me, my Lady. I didn't mean to drag you down with me into this horrific tale."

Maeve shook her head softly. "Don't worry about me," she reassured him gently, her mind drifting back to Eire so many years ago. "I know exactly what you went through."

Robert turned to look at her, intrigued, but Maeve quickly offered him a small smile before he could ask her what she meant.

He seemed to get the message and fell silent for a moment, before finally speaking up again. "What was it you wished to ask me?"

Maeve blinked, suddenly remembering why she was sitting here with this man, listening to the story of an awful raid. She nodded and took a deep breath, putting her mind back to the matter at hand. "I was wondering if you knew anyone by the name of Jacob by any chance. He's-"

"The prophet?" Robert asked right away.

"Yes!" Maeve's hopes flared up inside her chest.

"Of course, I know him," Robert confirmed. "Everyone knew Jacob. The old geezer…"

"Knew?" Maeve faltered, her throat going dry as she swallowed hard. "He's dead?"

Robert shook his head sadly. "I don't know, my Lady. He was hurt pretty badly during the raid. When I left he was lying on a litter, dosing in and out of consciousness. I'm sorry."

Maeve felt her shoulders sink at his words, her hopes suddenly shattering. If Jacob had been severely injured during the attack and if he was in such a poor condition three weeks ago, chances were he was almost certainly dead by now, which meant she had failed Master Dim-Dim in her mission to save his friend.

She swallowed hard but before her composure could slip, Maeve gritted her teeth, forced a smile and stood up. "Thank you, Robert. I hope Kalladrell can show justice to these murderers."

Robert stood up beside her, his large stature vibrating with the need for revenge while fire burned in his deep green eyes. "I'm looking forward to it, my Lady."


	15. What's Your Story?

**Chapter 11 - What's your story?**

After what she learned from Robert Thomet, Maeve felt at a complete loss, helplessly clueless about her next course of actions now that the probability of Jacob being dead was extremely high. What purpose did she have in Kalladrell if she had failed in the mission Dim-Dim had entrusted her with? What was she supposed to do now?

She didn't know how long she wandered aimlessly in the courtyard, walking amongst the soldiers and the volunteers like a ghost in a trance, but after a while she somehow found her way to the wagons near the left portcullis again, Simon friendly waving her over to assist him with the inventory if she wanted to, an occasion she seized with the hope of distracting herself from the storm of thoughts and doubts that was raging on inside her head, especially a series of gloomy scenarios about all the prophecies Master Dim-Dim had warned her about if anything happened to his prophet friend.

Thus, Maeve found herself sitting amongst the women and the children, inventorying beans, fruits, bread, cheese and hundreds of water skins, until her thoughts inevitably wandered down another path, one equally treacherous, that lured her straight to Sinbad and the crew. A series of questions poked at the corners of her mind restlessly, like a cloud of annoying bugs. She couldn't help but wonder how she could possibly contact them and if she would ever see them again anytime soon. If she had no more reason to stay here in Kalladrell, then what kept her from returning home? But Robin had told her earlier that no worldwide sailing ships ever docked here, and that left her wondering just how remote the island of Kalladrell truly was...

Time slipped by as her mind depressingly spun in a whirlwind of broken hopes. Barely registering how the sun sunk like a stone in the sky, the shadows in the courtyard growing long and dark, she couldn't help but feel like she was about to throw herself to the wolves at dawn when the trek through the Blind Mountains would begin. She was about to spend a whole month in a treacherous, deadly forest inhabited by dangerous creatures with a bunch of strangers she barely knew, and for what? For all she knew Jacob was already dead, probably had been for a while now, so why was she risking her life instead of trying to find a way to contact the crew?

On the other hand, just thinking about the whole matter made Maeve's stomach turn, her selfishness tasting like a bitter poison. She missed the crew terribly, but she couldn't back down now. All the information she had gathered so far pointed to the sad prospect of Jacob's death, but she would have to rely on hope until she reached Denwood and checked the truth for herself. Only then would she decide what to do next.

As much as she hated it, the crew would have to wait, a dull strain on her patience like a bad stitch in her side. But she would have to endure it.

Besides, even if she was still quite the stranger on this mysterious island, she couldn't help but feel like she was somehow involved with these people now. After everything she had learned about the horrible raid in Denwood, about the sickening methods the Blood Raiders used to slaughter innocent people, about Commander Sarkin's icy cruelty, about the courage and generosity of all the volunteers who were willing to risk their lives to help the surviving villagers on the other side of the Blind Mountains, she wanted to help them too, and she took pride in the fact that Sinbad and the crew would have done the same thing.

As darkness slowly settled in the courtyard, the soldiers and the other volunteers began to retire inside to their chambers and return to their homes, plunging the soldier's compound in a deserted silence that clashed with the former buzzing activity of the day.

Surfacing from her gloomy state of mind, before she even had the time to ponder on what she would do until Robin returned, Maeve soon found herself in the company of his men at arms as well as Leisa, who took it upon themselves to equip her with all the gear she would need for the trek through the mountains.

It warmed her heart to see how friendly and opened the soldiers were with her, as if she'd been their friend for years. Even Leisa, despite her usual grim composure, was being unsettlingly kind to her. The Radakeel's provocative attitude and challenging arrogance had considerably dimmed, although her feline sassiness was still pretty much present in her eyes, punctuating her occasional comments as she protected Maeve against the good-hearted teases of the men.

As she wondered if the merry band's considerate behaviours had anything to do with her hair color, Maeve quickly became the owner of a new sword, a bow and a full quiver, a brown leather backpack with a water skin and a bedroll with a blanket, and two satchels full of fruits that were to be her load to carry during the trek.

"Well, I think you're all set," Simon concluded as he finished tying up the laces to his own backpack and sat down with the rest of them around the fire Mark had started in a small iron barrel topped with wood, with a pot hanging above the flames by an iron bracket.

The courtyard was completely empty now, quiet and dark except for their little group cozily gathered around the fire for supper and a couple of lone torches bracketed on the granite columns all around, and Maeve also saw light shining behind a few windows high up in the white towering walls of the Council.

Glancing down at all the equipment Robin's friends had put together for her next to the bench where she was seated, Maeve shook her head with overwhelming gratitude. "I don't know how to thank you all for this…"

As he offered her a bowl of stew, Leo smiled down kindly at her. "No need to. We can always use an extra warrior when making the crossing."

" _But_ , if you ever feel _reeaally_ guilty about abusing our hospitality and it's keeping you awake at night," Coop smirked flirtatiously as he chewed on a loaf of bread. "You can always come and see me. I can think of many ways you could return the favour. I'm sure we-"

When Leisa wacked the tanned man behind the head, he hunched his shoulders with a groan. "What?" he protested with a grimace. "You only meet a woman made out of fire and steel once in a blue moon. You don't want to waste her when she's in your hands."

Maeve scoffed at his line of thoughts. "What makes you think I'm in your hands?"

"Don't mind him," Leisa rolled her eyes at her companion's behaviour as she sat down next to her on the bench. "He's got an inferiority complex with women."

"Aye," Leo added, the young brown-eyed soldier throwing an apple at his smug friend. "And he's trying to conceal it with bad pick-up lines."

Mark and the others laughed as Coop made a face, rolling his eyes in annoyance.

"Do you have a place to sleep for the night?" Simon asked her as he sliced himself a piece of cheese.

"I'm afraid not," Maeve said, taking a spoonful of stew.

"You could stay here at the barrack," the blond captain offered. "We have a couple of spare bunks upstairs-"

"Do you seriously think I'm going to leave her here with you, guys?" Robin cut in jokingly as he stepped out into the courtyard from a sideway door shadowed between the columns to their left.

Everyone turned to him in surprise, welcoming him to their little campfire, and Maeve felt a warm wave of safety and familiarity roll inside her chest when she briefly met his gaze.

"I can keep Coop at bay if that's what you're worried about," Leisa reassured him, the twitch of a smile tugging on her lips.

Patting Leo on the back as the young soldier scooted aside on the bench, Robin sat down with them. "Oh it's you guys I'm worried about," he said, throwing Maeve a playful look across the dancing flames. "She's a handful."

Maeve instantly quirked an eyebrow up. "I beg your pardon?"

"She can be quite meddlesome when she wants to," Robin joked again as he took the bowl of stew Leo handed him.

"I am _not_ meddlesome," Maeve protested, narrowing her eyes at his light mockery.

"No?" Robin went on, teasing her despite her denial. "Who was it who got tangled up with a thieves' caravan this morning and got me involved in the brawl?"

"You deliberately chose to intervene, not I," Maeve huffed, tossing an argument of her own back at him. "And who was it who saved your sorry hide when they ambushed us down the road?"

Robin drew silent then, stifling a laugh as he hung his head to focus on his stew, opening his mouth to speak once more but cut off by his companion.

"Are you sure you don't want her to sleep here?" Simon asked amusingly, exchanging playful looks with the others who were all biting back idiotic grins.

"Yes." Robin met Maeve's gaze for a moment across the fire, clearly enjoying their little good-hearted quarrel despite their mocking audience, then turned to answer his blond-haired comrade. "I found her a room up in the council quarters."

"Next to yours?" Mark teased, earning a string of low chuckles from the others.

"Next to Leisa's," Robin simple stated, ignoring the innocent hint behind his friend's comment.

"Works for me," the Radakeel agreed, looking pleased by his decision.

Before Robin could share another look with her, Maeve lowered her gaze to her own stew, attempting to hide the sudden rush of heat that warmed her cheeks. Of course, the entire situation stirred memories from her time with the crew and their endless teasing, and as quickly as they flooded her mind, those funny and embarrassing memories rapidly shifted to bitter ones painted with storming oceans and painful grief, and she suddenly had to steel herself and clear her throat to find her voice. "Thank you."

It was a quiet moment of crackling flames and popping wood before Robin's simple words drifted across the campfire to close the subject, almost as if he had sensed her discomfort. "No problem."

And when she looked up again, he had already averted his gaze to his food.

Silence settled on their little group then, the crackles of the fire echoing loudly in the night, with a few embers flying up above the flames as they each indulged in their comforting meals, which could very well be their last. Who knew whom among them would survive the dangers they were about to face…

_Only one man out of three makes it out alive._

That meant their current little merry-band could be split in two very soon, Maeve realized, the gloomy prospect weaving its way into her mind like a venomous snake, but before it could sink its fangs into her rising anguish, Mark, sitting right beside her with his bulking frame, broke the stretching silence.

"So, Maeve…" he began with his resonant, gruff voice. "What's your story?"

Six pairs of eyes settled on her at his words, an unspoken curiosity suddenly filling up the space around the campfire as Mark continued. "Since we'll be traveling together for the next month, it would be nice to know who we're trekking with."

Maeve raised her eyes to him, assessing his request carefully, until the corner of her lips curved up wittily. "I'm not telling you mine before you guys tell me yours."

Mark smirked, his small green eyes twinkling in the firelight. "Fair enough," he conceded with a nod. "Who shall go first?"

"I'll go," Leo volunteered with no hesitation, finishing a mouthful of stew with a small shake of his head. "There's not much to say anyway. I grew up here in Southamptom and all the men in my family served proudly in the army. My father, my grandfather, my great grandfather…All I've ever wanted was to become a soldier just like them, to serve and protect the people."

"A true born hero, this one," Coop bumped shoulder with the young solider, the gesture teasing in itself yet full of pride and care. "He would risk his life without a second thought to save someone in need."

Leo hung his head with a shy smile, toying with a piece of bread. "That's why I joined the army as soon as I was of age," he continued, voice humbled and honest. "I wanted to be the sword and shield against the darkness, with strength and honour to defend justice and truth."

"That's highly commendable," Maeve commented, impressed by the young soldier's honourable purpose.

"Aye, and don't underestimate his babyface," Mark added with a playful warning. "He's as lethal with a sword as any Radakeel is with a Sleyan."

They all shared a laugh at the comparison, the campfire ringing with the pleasant notes of companionship.

"And what are _you_ lethal with?" Maeve asked Mark in return.

"A lumber axe," the scruffy man replied.

"What?"

He chuckled lowly at her questioning frown, his wide shoulders rippling under his shirt. "I was a lumberjack and a blacksmith before I joined the army a couple of years ago, or rather, before I was enrolled," he explained, stretching his arm out to grab an apple in a basket beside him. "Back then, I preferred forging weapons instead of wielding them, until I unexpectedly saved the life of one of Kalladrell's lieutenants. The man was on patrol and had an accident on the road, got crushed under a wagon. I lifted the thing up and dragged him out to safety, but he passed away from his wounds shortly after. He made me promise to deliver an important message to the Central Council, which I did, and after fulfilling the deed, before I knew it, Commander Cameron himself offered me to serve as a soldier here in Southampton, to help with the tracing of new trails in the Blind Mountains to secure the area. He said they could use the extra pair of hands of a lumberjack. The pay was three times what I was earning back then so I took the job. Ended up traveling South with these two." He pointed at Robin and Simon with his apple before taking a mighty, crunching bite.

"And after many months spent in our remarkable company, he came to value friendship more than coins," Simon said, his kind face warmer and less pale under the soft hue of the dancing flames.

Mark sickered good-humouredly at the army's captain, a spark of mischeviousness twinkling in his gaze as he went on with his tale. "Aye, and then we stopped in Denwood on our way here and this is where _Simon_ fell in love with Robin's sister."

At this new information, Maeve's brain halted and a frown of puzzlement creased her brow as a couple of dots failed to connect themselves in her head. Her eyes darted to Robin questionningly. "I thought you said you grew up in Erindale. What was your sister doing all the way south in Denwood?"

"She never liked the city," Robin explained simply, meeting her gaze across the campfire. "She always dreamed of wide open spaces, green fields and horses to ride into the sunset with the wind in her hair. We had an uncle in Denwood who bred horses for a living and it was always her plan to go live with him as soon as her education was finished, which she did."

"And then she melted Simon's heart overnight," Coop commented theatrically, bringing his hand to his heart in a touching manner.

"He couldn't keep his eyes off her for a minute," Mark added mockingly, teasing his friend.

"They _both_ couldn't their eyes off each other," Robin observed as well, nudging Simon beside him.

"And their _hands_ ," Coop added, causing his friends to erupt in laughter around the campfire, much to Simon's expense whose cheeks flushed bright crimson in the firelight.

"Shut up," the blond captain admonished them, attempting to scowl but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.

"And then came the wedding bells," Leo declared with a smooth sing-song voice.

Maeve couldn't help but smile at the entire exchange, her gaze settling on Simon with a question on her lips. "Why didn't you settle down?"

Simon sighed deeply, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his thighs, his blue eyes drifting to the flames pensively. "Because I had no money," he replied with simple honesty. "Cassidy already owned her own farm and her own land, but I wanted to earn my way around as well, and I wasn't completely ready to give up military service either. Besides, Robin and I got it into our heads to try and trace some decent, safer trails in the woods across the Blind Mountains to help with the crossings."

"A fools' errand," Robin bitterly observed. "It's impossible to create and maintain any kind of trail in there. Everything grows back within a week."

"Aye, but we did manage to outline a small trekking network over the years, which allowed me to visit Cassidy every season," Simon added, a shred of pride painting his voice. "Then she got pregnant and by the gods, Ella is growing so fast…"

"She's the cutest thing you'll ever meet," Mark boasted, addressing Maeve between two bites of apple.

"How old is she now, five years-old?" Coop asked.

"Six." A sad smile stretched Simon's lips, a father's pride coloring his pale face despite the deadly distance separating him from his family. "Anyway, I was supposed to leave the army this year to officially settle down, but then the Blood Raiders came…and I won't discard my sword nor my shield until this war is done and won."

Everyone nodded solemnly, faces turning grim and cold, the air suddenly growing thick as the space around the small campfire was darkened with the threatening shadows of war and destruction.

In the heavy silence, as icy goosebumps crawled on her skin at the recollection of Robert Thomet's horrible tale, Maeve inhaled quietly to settle her nerves, then spoke softly in an attempt to break the gloomy atmosphere and redirect the conversation back to its original subject. "So we've got many swords, a lumber axe…" She turned to level her gaze on Coop on the other bench. "I'm guessing your weapon of choice is the bow?"

The tanned-man smirked. "Oh I've got many weapons, darling."

Maeve rolled her eyes, huffing a laugh at his cocky boldness.

"If only he knew how to wield them all," Mark teased with his gruff voice.

Small laughter erupted from the others, the previous grim tension slowly shifting back to light and casual conversation.

"I grew up in an orphanage," Coop spoke, beginning his own tale. "My parents were killed when I was very young in a fishing accident near the lethal reefs of the Blind Mountains. I only joined the army a couple of years ago, around the same time as these three arrived in Southampton," he pointed to Robin, Simon and Mark. "But not before trying my hands at various different jobs. I was the steward of a very wealthy lord, a teacher in a youngling's school, a professional jouster, a fiddler musician in a band…"

"You're kidding me." Maeve's eyes widened in disbelief, genuinely impressed by the man's resume.

"Oh no he's dead serious," Leo nodded in confirmation. "You wouldn't believe everything this man can do. Name the job and he's done it before."

"What can I say, I'm a man of many talents," Coop grinned. "Marriage material."

"More like a great deal of trouble," Simon joked.

Coop made a face, almost pulling his tongue out in protest, then resumed his tale. "It wasn't until I joined the army and met these guys that I truly found my purpose." His dark eyes slowly turned serious and solemn, all trace of playfulness evaporating from them. "My family and my home are right here around this fire," he said, glancing at each of his companion in turn. "I'll shoot down hundreds of Blood Raiders to protect them, or die trying."

The air grew thick again, the threatening promises of war and its bloody battlefields looming over their heads like stormy clouds ready to unleash death upon them.

"Likewise, mate," Mark declared gravely, his meaty hand curling around a bottle of wine which he raised in a silent toast, stealing a sip before passing it on to Simon on the next bench.

"Aye." The blond captain drank as well. "We'll rid our shores of these dogs. If it's a war they want, we'll give them one."

The bottle passed on to Leo. "Aye, and the winds have already turned in our favor," he stated, and Maeve didn't miss the way his young brown eyes flitted in her direction when he spoke.

When Robin took the bottle after him, his sharp blue eyes momentarily plunging deep into hers before staring back into the flames as he drank, Maeve felt a cold shiver travel down her spine. "King Zankar brough us blood and death," he said darkly, voice deep and resonant. "We'll bring him all the fire Kalladrell has in store."

"And send him back to the Wikken Hells." Coop brought the bottle to his lips in agreement, passing it on to Leisa afterwards.

The Radakeel took a swig and her feline features glowed in the light of the flames, a warrior ready to rain hell upon her enemies. "Fire and steel," she declared, biting into the words as if they were etched into her very skin. "No one escapes the flames of justice, nor the blades of freedom. He will bleed. _And he will burn_."

The woman's head turned to her then, black eyes boring into her very soul, her words echoing in the gathering silence like the sharp crack of whip, and Maeve watched as the bottle was handed to her at last.

_Fire._

Her pulse quickened in her throat as something rose within her, something shapeless and timeless, smoldering hot.

She _knew_ fire.

It dwelled within her core, it flowed in her blood and dripped from her fingers, a deadly weapon she could unleash to destroy, to kill, _to burn_.

These people were swearing vengeance upon their enemies, speaking of fire, justice and freedom, voices roughened by determination and eyes alight with an ominous glow, looking at her as if she could breathe life back into their cause, like a bed of coals set ablaze by the faintest breath of wind. The weight of their stares made her pulse throb in her ears, her blood quickening beneath her skin. Her eyes flicked to Robin for support, a wordless exchange passing between them, packed with questions with their answers lost in the dead of night.

Seconds slipped away until she finally glanced down again at the bottle of wine in Leisa's outstreched hand, raising her own to grasp it through steady fingers. Under the expectant scrutiny of her audience, she took one long sip, the harsh liquor burning her throat and pooling in her stomach like a dull, comforting heat.

"Fire and steel," she said, repeating the Radakeel's words as if they were a motto of some sort.

She was no innocent maiden; she knew the terrors of destructive raids, foreign invasion and the chaos of battle, but the more pieces of information she collected about this mysterious land, the more she realized that she knew very little about warfare on a grand scale such as the one Kalladrell seemed to be facing, the threat of the Blood Raiders looming on the horizon with the promise of brutal sieges and the clash of massive armies. She was skilled enough to be a foot soldier if need be, and ressourceful enough to put her magic to good use, but she failed to see what her role in all of this was supposed to be. _What had possessed Dim-Dim to send her here?_

The whole matter made her shiver despite the radiating heat from the nearby flames, her skin crawling with dread beneath her shirt, and yet as she watched the faces of the strangers around her, she was profoundly moved at the same time, her heart swelling with warmth and sweetness at the caring, visceral bond that united them, the iron bond of friendship and family that was knitting their little group together, giving them the strenght to stand and fight against whatever brutal enemies might wish to tear them apart.

_Family._

The word tasted bitter in her mouth.

The only family she had left in the world was Dermott, her own blood, a thousand miles away, a brother she had abandoned in the grips of a terrible curse she had repeatedly failed to break. And then there were the crew and the Nomad, those special sailors who had succeeded to patch up the holes in her heart over the previous year, like a band of artist repairing shattered glass, picking up each jagged piece despite the blunt and sharp edges that might cut them and draw blood. They had reminded her of what it felt like to have a family, a place to belong, with people to share all the good and the bad with.

The storm had stolen that family from her, the mighty ocean plucking her from their midst like a mighty hand uprooting a weed, tossing her away in a new world with a new set of unfamiliar faces, a new band of artists and a newly shattered heart. Only time would tell if they could repair it or not, and that simple thought suddenly filled her with a sharp fear like an arrow straight through the gut. _Time._ She didn't know what the exact duration of her stay in Kalladrell would be, but just thinking about that uncertain notion was enough for a desperate scream to lodge itself in her chest, begging to be let out.

She pulled her lips over her teeth to subdue it, her lungs struggling for air, when Leo's light voice was her saviour.

"It's your turn now, Leisa," the young soldier addressed the black-skinned woman, in an attenpt to lift the heavy mood.

"There's nothing to say," she replied sternly, her feline features grim and implacable. "A Radakeel is born and raised as a warrior, as has been the custom for the past three thousand years. It's an honour as high as I can ever hope to achieve. May the gods forfeit my soul and the Wikken Hells claim me if I fail at my task."

Finding her voice at last after a second sip of wine to calm her nerves, Maeve tilted her head to the ruthless woman seated next to her. "And _what_ is your task exactly?"

Leisa held her gaze, unflinching, her eyes as black as the twin Sleyans hanging at her hips. "To protect."

Maeve had to bite her tongue lest a _'Who?'_ or a _'Me?'_ escaped her, and instead chose to simply regard the other woman with careful suspicion.

"So," Mark cut into the wordless tension, hope lacing through his words as he straightened his back beside her on the bench. "Now that you know everything about us, what's _your_ story, Maeve? Why did you come here?"

Reluctantly, Maeve brought her attention back to him and instantly knew she had no way out this time, no clever words to postpone her tale any longer. She let her eyes surf on the expectant faces that were studying her all around the campfire, those honorable soldiers eager to hear her long-awaited story in return for the ones they had shared with her with such raw honesty. She owed them the same.

But the words would not come. The tragic tale of a sailor washed overboard in a storm-tossed ocean shrank into the back of her mind, like a wounded animal retreating into its lair to hide and lick its wounds, and there was no luring it out of those safe confines.

"My mentor is a wizard," she began carefully with a slow breath, choosing to share this chapter of her story instead, and saving herself the trouble of delving into everything that came before that. "He has a friend in Denwood and he sent me here to help and protect him." Avoiding the heavy scrutiny radiating from six pairs of curious eyes, she distracted herself by placing the bottle of wine still clasped in her hands down on the ground between her feet, then she let her gaze trail to the flames in defeat. "Of course, I'm too late to save him now, but I have to get to Denwood one way or another lest he's still alive. In the meantime, I guess I'm here to help, in any way I can."

She looked up then, briefly meeting the soldiers' stares one by one, and hoping that the honest resolution etched in her features was enough for them to believe her. She didn't know how long she would stay here, the thought devastating in itself, but she would provide all the aid and support she could in the meantime. That much she could promise them.

"He didn't tell you anything else?" Coop asked quietly, speaking over the soft hisses and pops of the flames. "Your mentor?"

It was an innocent question yet his words echoed in the night as loud as a scream, packed with meaning as everyone watched her with a strange glimmer of hope, as if her ominous red hair would suddenly catch on fire and offer them everything they prayed for.

Maeve's eyes momentarily sought Robin's gaze across the flames that coiled and twisted between them, almost daring him to spill everything he knew right this moment and pull her out of the darkness of ignorance, but he simply stared back like a hawk, still and silent as a standing stone.

"No," she said, looking straight at him with a hint of accusation, before finally leveling her eyes back on Coop. "No, he didn't."

"We should get some rest," Robin abruptly declared, officially ending the conversation as he sat straighter on the bench, a General speaking to his brave men, while his raptor blue eyes avoided hers uneasily. "We won't get much sleep for a whole month so we might as well enjoy it while we still can."

Maeve watched the uneasiness creep into his mouvements as he stood, the others following suit with nods and 'ayes' of agreement. As Mark and Leo went about the task of discarding the scraps of their meals and tend to the fire, Maeve stood up as well, reaching for her new belongings when Simon good-heartedly waved his hand in dismissal and assured her they'd keep them safe and ready for her tomorrow morning.

Empty-handed except for the clothes on her back, Maeve waited until Robin finally stepped closer, only briefly meeting her gaze as he muttered a few words about escorting her to her chambers with Leisa, his hand clenching and unclenching into a fist at his side as if he was fighting the urge to place it at the small of her back to steer her along as he'd done so many times during the day. The gesture, or lack thereof, almost made her blush like a maid, a tease forming on her lips as a defense mecanism but she said nothing.

Instead she bidded goodnight to the others and simply fell into steps with him and the Radakeel, ascending the wide flights of white marble stairs and disappearing into the belly of the Council.


	16. Room and Board

**Chapter 12 - Room and Board**

"This place is absolutely magnificent," Maeve marvelled out loud, wide eyes surfing on her surrounding as Robin and Leisa flanked her on both sides like watchful escorts. "I've never seen anything like it."

Amazed by the grey-veined white granite columns spread on either side of the long and quiet corridor where they were marching, their footsteps muffled by the burgundy carpet draped on the granite floor, Maeve was at a loss of words to describe the beauty and grandiosity of yet another part of the Council's interior. Small flames flickering in silver reflector lanterns hanging on either side of the walls in iron brackets were casting a gentle light all around, lengthening shadows and bathing everything with peaceful calm, a soothing balm for her growing exhaustion.

"Wait till you see your room in Er-", Leisa snickered in amusement, but quickly caught herself midway in her sentence and cleared her throat. "-in here."

Yanked out of her wonder, Maeve momentarily frowned at the Radakeel's words but then, stopping before a massive mahogany door with its fine wood carved with tiny vines and flowers, Robin extended a hand towards the room hidden beyond and smiled. "These are your chambers for the night."

Awed by the intricate details of the rich red door, Maeve couldn't help but run the tip of her fingers over the delicate motifs to feel the sleek edges of the carver's expert work.

Straightening her back, Leisa then bid them farewell for the night. "This is where I take my leave. Treat her well," she declared, bowing her head politely and leveling a knowing look in Robin's direction before retreating further down the granite hall.

As the dark-skinned woman disappeared behind one of the many other mahogany doors, Robin gallantly pushed hers open and invited her in. "After you."

When Maeve walked into the room, she froze at once, her breath catching in her throat and words sticking on her tongue. Her personal chambers for the night were fit for royalty, no more, no less, and from where she stood she couldn't even tell how many rooms the suite had.

The floor was covered everywhere with the same burgundy mat, the rich color matching the heavy curtains that hung lavishly above a pair of large windows at the opposite end of the room. Reflector lamps were already lit, plunging the magnificent room in warm golden light and creating a soothing atmosphere which was heightened by the beckoning invitation of a large cushioned couch facing an impressive fireplace made of fine dark stones.

Turning slowly on her heels to take in every detail of the breath-taking room, Maeve caught sight of a massive bathtub in a room to her right, and then a large canopy bed draped by a heavy swath of dark red cloth in another room to her left.

When she finally finished pivoting around in astonishment, Robin was crouched by the fireplace, working on igniting a flame with a flint and steel. Raising his head to glance at her, an amused smile hung at the corner of his lips. "You like it?"

"Like it?" Maeve repeated, not believing her ears. "It's fit for a queen! I can't sleep here!"

Robin laughed at her excitement. "It's one of the guest rooms. It's no problem."

Still astounded by the luxury she was being granted, Maeve joined him by the fireplace where he was down on one knee, tempted to light the fire herself with a flick of her hand to catch him off guard, but instead she simply regarded him as he worked, steady hands moving expertly to ingite a spark. "Why are you doing this?" she finally spoke quietly.

"The nights can be cold without a fire. I'm just-"

"No," Maeve shook her head. "I mean why are you doing all of this? Why are you being so incredibly accomodating and generous to me? You barely even know me after all."

Concentrating on the flint and the steel in his hands, his broad shoulders rippling under his shirt with every thump, Robin pressed his lips together before replying. "You're right," he admitted blankly. "You're a complete stranger, and I still can't figure out if you're a spy sent by the Blood Raiders to detect a flaw in our inner defenses and slaughter us all from the inside."

Maeve felt as if he had just struck her, his words sharply bouncing off the walls as she blinked wordlessly. His statement was bold and out of place, yet there was a subtle trace of sarcasm in his voice that wasn't lost on her and she quickly wondered whether he was toying with her or not.

When a small flame finally ignited in the fireplace, a kind smile gently lit up his features and he looked up to meet her gaze, his witty blue eyes turning soft. "I've had the whole day to get to know you, Maeve," he said. "I know you're brave, honest, strong and compassionate. You're willing to cross the Blind Mountains to help a man you've never even met. _You're selfless_. You put the lives of others before your own. You're no Blood Raider."

Maeve watched him silently as he focused on the fireplace once again to toss a log into the timid flames, making shadows dance around them like lurking spirits. "I still don't know how I can accept this," she said, looking around at the magnificent room, afraid to touch anything, every piece of furniture being way too rich for her blood.

When he was satisfied by the gentle intensity of the fire, the flames hissing and crackling softly in the dark, Robin stood up and brushed his hands on his knees. "Has anyone ever told you how hard you are to please?" he mocked.

Maeve rolled her eyes and flashed him a grimacing smile, before giving in to the exhaustion in her bones and slumping down on the couch.

Robin chuckled at her grimace and sat down beside her, equally tired.

For a moment they just remained there, quiet and unmoving, listening to the hisses of the flames twirling in the hearth, with every pop echoing loudly in the room around them. It was a moment before Maeve fully realized how drained she was, her limbs heavy and numb like lead, the accumulated tension in her muscles slowly unwinding as she abandoned herself to the silence and the comforting peace of the room, although her troubled mind was much harder to put to rest.

After several minutes Robin finally spoke, his voice colored with concern. "How did it go with Robert? Did he know about the man you're looking for?"

Regret pooled within her as she stared at the crackling fire, Robert's tale ringing in her ears. "Aye, but unfortunately I'm afraid he's already dead. Robert said Jacob was badly hurt during the raid and I doubt he survived this long without succumbing to his wounds."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Robin apologized sincerely, and quickly added a few encouraging words. "Maybe he's still alive. You never know."

"I guess I'll find out in a month," Maeve said, trying her best to remain optimistic as the log softly spit and cracked before them.

It was another long string of seconds before Robin spoke again, his voice thick with misery. He leaned forward in his seat to rest his elbows on his knees and let out a loud exhale, a heavy hand wiping across his face as his shoulders sunk in defeat. "I can't believe I'm taking this many people, women and children no less, across the Blind Mountains. It's a suicide mission."

Tilting her head to study him better, Maeve watched as he stared into the fire unblinking, like a lost soul seeking answers with the spirits, the flames flickering with a golden hue on his face and carving his tensed features with dark shadows; a General wearily sharing his fears and concerns to a stranger in the night, perhaps because he was afraid to voice them out loud to his own men. "Lilian said that one man out of three makes it out alive on the other side," Maeve recalled with caution, the words of his pretend-girlfriend earlier in the tavern echoing in her head. "Is that true?"

The set of his jaw hardened at her words and he reluctantly nodded, without meeting her eyes. "I'm afraid so. I usually get no more than fifty men across at a time. It's much easier to go unnoticed by the Skinwalkers and the Kawasseas that way. Still, people always get killed."

As her mind drifted to the cursed woods they would begin trekking across tomorrow, the list of questions she had locked away earlier in the courtyard finally rose to her attention again. "Those Skinwalkers, what kind of creatures are they exactly, aside from being blind and deadly?"

Robin sighed, as if he didn't quite know where to begin. "Well, no one really knows where they come from. If they walked up straight on their legs instead of crawling on all fours they'd be just like us-I mean, _humanoid_ -except that their skin would still be white as snow and sickeningly pasty. They live in caves by the thousands, coming out at night to hunt because they can't stand the light of day. It's as if their species spent thousands of years hiding in the dark. That's probably why they're completely blind and grossly pale. They must have developed every sense to its highest potential except for the sense of sight. When night settles in, the woods become as silent as a graveyard and before you even know it, they charge you like a hawk diving on its prey from out of nowhere and rip you apart. You would think their blindness is advantageous for us, but their hearing is as sharp as their fangs and claws. A twig breaking under your boot, the hiss of a torch's flame, the subtle ring of a sword being unsheathed, and you're as good as dead."

Maeve listened closely, her dread for the upcoming arrival of dawn growing stronger by the minute but she urged herself to keep a sharp focus. "What about the chimes you ordered today? You said they were a special kind of weapon. What are they for?"

Robin paused, eyes casting downward as he seemed to hesitate before saying the word. "Diversion."

As sudden realization hit her, Maeve felt the color drain from her face. "What? You mean bait?"

"It's the only way to keep the Skinwalkers' attention away from the main troop," Robin explained, although he looked far from being pleased with his answer. "They follow the ringing of the bells wherever it goes."

Maeve licked her lips, pondering her next words. "I don't know much about fishing but I know that in the end it never turns out good for the bait," she said carefully. "What happens to those wielding the bells?"

"Some ringers make it," Robin replied quietly, the burden of painful memories hidden in his eyes. "It depends on how vicious the Skinwalkers are."

Maeve's mind reeled in her head as she tried to conceive how such a suicidal diversion could be executed. "How do you decide which of your men is going to serve as snacks for those beasts?"

"I don't," Robin answered simply. "Every soldier knows it's his duty to use his bell when a Skinwalker ventures too close and threatens the safety of the people."

His voice was calm and resolute, ringing with the unspoken stories of all those who had sacrificed themselves during previous treks to save the lives of others.

Maeve was simply horrified. She couldn't even begin to imagine the depth of the terror that must consume the soldiers who make the crossing of the Blind Mountains, and at the same time she felt a poignant admiration for their courage and their selflessness. These men knew that any step could be their last, and during this particular crossing, it could mean the death of many woman and children who traveled with them as well.

"What about the Kawasseas?" she asked, her throat dry like a whetstone as she wondered about the other lethal threat that loomed in the cursed woods.

"They're blind, too, but I haven't yet decided whether they're deadlier than the Skinwalkers or not," Robin mused. "One thing is for sure though, they can sense it when someone makes it into their territory and attempts to cross their swamp, and they don't like it."

"Do they sing to enchant their victims?" Maeve wondered, recalling the many different legends about how all mermaids were gifted with an enchanting voice that hypnotized all those unfortunate enough to hear them sing.

Robin shook his head. "No. They prefer to ensnare them with a sticky sort of filamentous weed that shoots out of their palms," he explained, pointing at the heel of his palm to show her where the gummy weed came out of the Kawasseas' hands. "When they've got you, it's over. You'll be dragged down under the water and drowned in the blink of an eye."

Maeve huffed. "Charming."

"They do sing though," Robin added. "But that's just their way of scaring the wits out of their victims first." Turning his head to look at her in the flickering firelight, a frown suddenly furrowed his brow. "You've never encountered mermaids before? I mean, since you were a sailor and all…"

Maeve smiled at the distant memory. "I have, once. She was one of Poseidon's sirens and was harpooned by treasure hunters. She sought revenge upon their souls and they eventually got what they deserved as punishment for their crime."

Studying her intently as she spoke, Robin's eyes narrowed in curiosity once more, as if something about her had been nagging him for a while. "How is it that you became a sailor?"

The smile on her lips dimmed at his question, nostalgia quickly claiming her heart. "That's a long story…" Her voice trailed off softly as she remembered the day everything changed. Meeting Sinbad for the first time on the Isle of Dawn and embarking on the Nomad with Master Dim-Dim seemed like a lifetime ago. She had committed every moment to memory since then, but speaking about it all brought along such painful longing that she had no desire to delve into much detail, so she went with a short version. "Circumstances led to one another and one day I found myself on a ship and part of a crew. And now I'm here."

Robin regarded her closely, like someone trying to decipher a complex clue. There was a dozen questions still shining in his raptor blue eyes, but he respectfully accepted her succinct answer, relinquishing his curiosity on her life as a sailor for the time being. Instead he opted for another inquiry. "Do you have any family left at all? From the North?"

" _A brother_."

The word left her mouth before she even knew she was speaking.

She froze like a shard of ice, the wind in her lungs leaving her abruptly as her heart skipped a sharp beat and then painfully raced up inside her chest, thumping against her ribcage like a flock of wild horses galloping at high speed. Her eyes went straight to the flames in complete shock, unable to make sense of what she had just revealed and utterly unable to face Robin lest he sensed her sudden distress.

 _What on earth was wrong with her?_ In the last decade of her life, never had she proclaimed out loud that she had a brother, not to a single living soul except for Master Dim-Dim. She had never even told Sinbad about him, despite all the occasions where she'd had the chance to tell him the truth. All those times where he had so cautiously opened the door to her past to take a peek inside, all those times where she'd only allowed him glimpses of it without ever being fully honest with him. Brushing the matter off. Offering vague answers. _White lies._ _So many white lies..._ Sinbad had deserved to know the truth, to hear it from her mouth. And here she was giving it to another man without a second thought.

Regret swallowed her whole, like a mighty monster from the Wikken Hells sucking her right into the belly of the Earth, with sharp claws digging into her heart to bleed her dry.

Swallowing hard past the lump in her clamped throat, she realized Robin was still eyeing her intently, awaiting some form of further explanation on her part.

Yet she could not bring herself to face him, her gaze locked on the flames for salvation, her voice blank when she spoke. "He's still on the ship I sailed on."

Maeve half expected him to press on the issue and twist the knife into her wound with another question, but instead he simply remained quiet. If he sensed the black weight of guilt that was currently crushing her, he spoke no word of it. Instead he chose to offer her hopeful words of comfort. "I'm sure you'll get to see him again."

His voice was gruff and soothing in the golden darkness, but Maeve failed to return a grateful smile. The foul morass of regret inside her head was growing too fast, clawing at her sanity, but before it could take root like a nasty weed and properly choke what was left of her crumbling composure, she cleared her throat and swiftly changed the subject. "These Wizards you have here in Southampton," she began, lifting her chin up to instill some strenght and control back in her features. "Why don't they make the crossing? Surely with magic as powerful as theirs, trekking through these cursed woods would be a piece of cake. Why don't they provide protection?"

Without a word, Robin accepted her diversion as easily as if they'd just swatted a fly around their heads, granting her the space she desperately needed from their last subject. "We've discussed this issue at length many times in the past. It would certainly make the crossing of the Blind Mountains much safer to have a pair of wizards amongst our ranks. On the other hand, we can't leave the city unprotected, especially right now. If the Blood Raiders retaliate, Adam and George need to be here to organize the city's defenses." He paused then, his sharp blue eyes fixing her in the candlelight, his lips curving upward a little. "But we won't be completely magic-less. We have _you_."

"You're in for a disappointment," Maeve snickered at his comment, a small smile of derision stealing its way on her face. "I'm nowhere near as powerful as a duo of experienced and battle-hardened wizards."

"I think you're underestimating yourself," Robin observed, attempting to cheer her up once more.

"Trust me, I'm not." Maeve replied with a loaded sigh, the wings of a hawk flapping in her memories.

Robin's smile held a hint of sorrow then, as if her lack of confidence in herself saddened him greatly and he wished he could prove her wrong. But Maeve was in no mood to have her skills and her worth unecessarily praised at the moment. She already knew what she was worth, and Robin would come to learn it in time, too.

As they went back to staring at the flames wordlessly, silence cloaked them once more in their little bubble of firelight, and both of them realized how late into the night it truly was.

"I should leave," Robin heavily declared as he rose from his seat tiredly. "We both need a good night's sleep for tomorrow."

Pushing herself to her feet as well, Maeve nodded in agreement and followed him to the door, toying with her hands awkwardly, suddenly at a loss of what to say to conclude their long conversation and ease the note of tension that had lodged itself in there since her mindless slip-up about her brother, but Robin beat her to it.

"There's a bath and some towels in the other room if you wish to clean up," he pointed out, tilting his chin towards the room to the right.

"Thank you." She wished for something else to add, for some formalities or a light jest, but words completely failed her and remained stuck on her tongue.

Pulling the thick mahogany door open, Robin stepped out and turned to face her, meeting her gaze one last time with soft and warm blue eyes. "Good night."

"Good night."

And Maeve watched him disappear in the dark hall, a shadow retreating into the night, before she closed the door at last.


	17. Watching

**Chapter 13 - Watching**

When the door closed and she was finally alone, Robin's presence lingering behind him like a shroud while the sudden silence swept over the room like a wave, Maeve leaned her back against the door and rested her head on the hard wood. She closed her eyes and sighed, the air leaving her lungs like a weight lifting from her shoulders. She was exhausted, thoroughly spent, all strength and energy properly sucked from her body like a sponge wrung dry. It was a miracle she was still standing on her feet after the kind of day she'd just had. It felt as if she had been awake for ages.

And to think of what she'd just revealed to Robin about Dermott, her biggest secret slipping from her mouth as easily as if she'd shouted the truth to the whole damn world with no hesitation...It was sickening, the shame and guilt rising in her throat once again, but she quickly admonished herself and tempered it down. If she spared a thought to her mindless revelation once more she would go mad, and what she desperately needed right now was rest and sleep.

Lazily, she opened her eyes and glanced around the majestic suite bathed by the flickering light of the flames dancing in the hearth, and for a moment she felt like an intruder, an impostor that didn't fit in the rich perfection of the place. But she was too tired to dwell on her lack of status at this point, and she wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth, so she ripped herself from the door and shuffled her feet to the candlelit bathroom, the call of hot water beckoning her to its warm invitation.

The tub was filled to the brim, its surface steaming like a bed of coals with the gentle scent of lavender oils, and her mind momentarily shut down as she went about the task of disrobing, her fingers working to unclasp her corset buckle to remove it before she pulled her shirt over her head and stripped her trousers down while her feet kicked off her boots. Within minutes she was stark naked and stepped into the water, its blistering warmth pleasantly kissing her flesh like silk and sending ripples of goosebumps down her limbs. She immersed herself completely, slipping below the surface while holding her breath, wetting her entire head and hair before emerging and blinking droplets out of her eyes. A sense of calm instantly claimed her body, the tightly coiled tension in her nerves unwinding at once as her muscles slowly began to relax one by one, yet soon enough her mind quickly returned to its chaotic spinning state, her thoughts warring with a black morass of questions and frustrations.

It was crazy. Everything was crazy. Two, no, _five_ weeks ago she'd been smoothly sailing the seven seas with the crew, and now she was stuck here, a prisoner with a quest on an island torn by war, with room and board in a room fit for queen. There was simply no wrapping her mind around such an inconceivable transition. It simply made no sense. She didn't belong here. She belonged on the Nomad. She belonged with the crew.

Yet here she was, thanks to Dim-Dim who had sent her on a suicidal mission to save his friend on the other side of the deadly Blind Mountains, in a kingdom where he was apparently famously known to the wizarding community, another piece of information which he had conveniently omitted to share with her. _It drove her mad_. She'd never fully realized the baffling amount of secrets he kept all those years, like a pirate with treasures buried all around the world. All those people he knew, the connections he had, the knowledge he safeguarded, the prophecies he had access to...It was dizzying. And keeping her in the dark so much only served to kindle the rising resentment she felt for him, a nasty feeling that was slowly sprouting like a weed watered by rain.

And to think tomorrow at dawn she would embark on a deadly trek in a cursed forest, with no guaranty of getting out alive on the other side...Why on earth would Dim-Dim put her life at risk like this? But she chastised herself sheepishly. It was easy to put the blame on her secretive mentor, yet none of this would have happened if the damned travel vial had worked properly this morning...

Maeve let out a steadying breath through her nose, an attempt to settle her nerves and relax in the tub, letting the hot water seep into her skin as the subtle sent of lavender waltzed around the room aglow by candlelight.

But dread nonetheless dug its wicked claws inside her chest. She had faced many foes in the past, tiptoeing on the edge of death on many occasions, risking her life for what she believed in and doing her best to protect innocent people. Being brutally mauled by Skinwalkers or drowned by Kawasseas was no different and was certainly terrifying, but nothing was as terrifying as facing those threats without the crew.

 _This time she would be alone_. This time none of them would be by her side, and the prospect of dying without ever seeing them again nearly choked her.

Out of reflex, she glanced at the red bandana wrapped around her wrist, the color darkened by the water as the fabric hung wet against her skin. Her eyes watered suddenly, a sharp sting slashing her heart like the tip of a blade, cutting her open to expose the unfinished story woven into this small token of the man it belonged to.

 _She missed him._ She never thought she could miss anyone like this, nor had she ever thought it could hurt this much. Every second her mind wandered to him was another weight added in her heart, another mile added to the distance separating them, her noble captain with whom she shared so many bitter regrets. So many things taken for granted…so many things left unsaid…secrets buried in the dark…

She blinked through the tears, fighting against the sobs that were piling up in her throat like rocks. She should have told him. All those occasions where she could have been honest with him, sharing the whole truth about Dermott's curse, all those moments spilled from her mind like water through her fingers, filling her with complete shame.

 _What a fool she had been_. Denying him the truth for so long out of fear and guilt for her repeated failures. Telling him she had a brother should have been so easy. A few simple words ushered in the night.

And yet she'd bluntly told Robin without a second thought, a mere stranger she had only met this very day. But perhaps it had been so very easy because he was just that, _a stranger_ , someone who knew nothing about Rumina, who wasn't involved in her constant battle to defeat her and all the dangers that incurred. He wasn't involved like Sinbad was. She knew it was a poor explanation for her slip of tongue, but it was the only one she could come up with right now, and besides, she had only revealed she had a brother, nothing about his curse.

She closed her eyes, her blurry vision disappearing with a single tear rolling down her cheek. Her thoughts galloped away to the Nomad and the crew, wondering where they were and what they were doing, if the seas were calm and if the winds were kind. The pain in her heart had almost dulled when her thoughts inevitably shifted to Bryn…

Another woman. Another sorceress.

_A convenient replacement._

Accepting the devastating consequences of the storm, having no other choice but to swallow down her fate and lead a separate life from those she loved and cared for, with not even a few minutes to spare to say goodbye...The hellish tempest had set all those cruel outcomes into motion and they had all rattled Maeve to the core one by one, testing the limits of her wits and her strenght, daring her to scream and shout and fight back against the unfairness of it all. But learning about Bryn taking her place on the Nomad had been the final chink in her armour, nearly shattering what was left of her shield into pieces.

Maeve's reaction when Dim-Dim had begrudgingly shared this news with her after she'd woken up from the terrible storm had been wordless shock, as if he'd struck her hard across the face and stolen the wind from her lungs. She'd been hotly insulted and infuriated, anger crashing in her blood like a river gone wild, and she'd wanted nothing more than to burn the entire world around her to ashes until the pain in her heart would melt away.

To be so easily replaced with the flick of a finger, forced to surrender her entire life to another woman overnight, a woman who now walked in her footsteps, slept where she once did, shared her meals with her friends, took care of her brother, spent her days by Sinbad's side…The wound of betrayal ran deeper than Maeve ever thought possible, red and bleeding and festering like a curse. It was utterly unfair and she was totally helpless against it all, no matter how loud she screamed and how hard she pounded her fists against invisible prison walls in the nightmares that tormented her at night.

But there was another feeling dwelling inside her since she'd learned of Bryn's arrival amongst the crew, a nasty and wicked emotion that could easily tear her apart from the inside like an angry beast if she wasn't careful enough to tame it down.

_Jealousy._

The word tasted bitter in her mouth, like a toxic mixture brewing deep within her core that would eventually poison her from the inside. But there was no escaping its black essence. No matter how much she tried to ignore it, it was always there in the back of her mind like a wicked spirit, haunting and tormenting her.

_She had no claim on Sinbad._

That was the hard, devastating truth. She had nothing but dust to cling to. Dust and memories. A token around her wrist.

She had nothing else.

She had nothing more.

How different things could have been...if only they'd had time to say goodbye...perhaps the gravity of their imminent separation might have coaxed them into action, might have ripped a few dire words from their lips...

Maeve closed her eyes, suffering the weight of heartwrenching regret pressing down against her ribs like a cold hard stone.

_They would never know what could have been._

And now she was trapped a thousand miles away, entrusted with a mission to accomplish, people to help, her own path to follow no matter how treacherous the road promised to be. The wheels of fate were already turning and there was nothing she could do about it, except suffer the constant throb of longing in her heart and pray to the good spirits that they may keep the crew safe while she was gone, while she couldn't watch over them and protect them.

Her eyes snapped open, a sudden thought creeping into her mind, and she sat a bit more upright in the tub as the realisation slowly hit her.

She glanced at the water sloshing around her, her heart quickly racing up as she pondered the possibility.

Dim-Dim had taught her how to use magic to channel images through time and space on a pure, conductive surface. It could work on any expense of reflective material, glass, metal, _water_...Back in their bubbled and secluded realm, she had done it to watch over the crew when they reunited with Tetsu and helped him save all those women who were captured by the demon Kompera and his seven demonic horsemen.

Back then Dim-Dim had taught her how to do it with a small mirror, but surely she could do it again with water. Right here. _Right now_.

Straightening up in the tub, her heartbeat pulsing hard and fast in her throat as hope spread like roots into her bones, Maeve took a steadying breath, calming her nerves before she let the magic flow within her core, a gentle warmth like a balm on all her worries, her mind drifting to the Nomad, to the crew, to Sinbad…She prayed to the spirits to let her see, just to catch a glimpse…just for a few seconds…

When she opened her eyes again, the water in the bath stirred softly in front of her and a blurry image began to form, colors and shapes blending together.

 _Then she saw him_.

Standing at the foot of a soaring rocky mountain and dangerously close to the edge of a cliff, Rongar was down on his knees before him, clutching his arm where blood oozed through his fingers. A blond woman dressed in a revealing outfit of red leather was facing them, spatting threats as her blade glistened red with what could only be Rongar's blood.

Maeve watched the scene fearfully, holding her breath as fake pleasantries were exchanged with the woman, a wordless plan subtly passing between Sinbad and Rongar before they both sprung into action. Rongar leaned out of the way and Sinbad tossed a rock at the woman, unbalancing her and winning enough seconds to lunge for his sword. The clash of steel rang in the night around Maeve as she witnessed the duel, nerves contracting with fear as Sinbad was kicked at and the woman's blade arced in the air to hack him to pieces. _They were too close to the edge of the cliff, way too close_.

And the blonde was angry, hissing cheeky insults his way as she pressed him against the jagged rocky outline of the cliff, although Sinbad quickly outmatched her and switched their positions around, spitting back a reply of his own before resuming their deadly dance.

Maeve had no clue why they were fighting nor what was at stake exactly, but her heart was hammering worriedly in her chest as they fought, every muscle coiled in anticipation, her entire body jerking in the bath when the woman suddenly tried to stab him with a dagger unsheathed from her boot, but Sinbad was quick enough to catch her wrist in time. He then proceeded to slug her in the face and when she furiously waved her sword in the air to cleave him in two, he swiftly stepped out of the way.

There was a shadow gradually darkening his gaze, something black and dangerous seeping into his moves, shoulders tensed and muscles twitching in his arms as he backhanded the woman across the face. He'd had enough of the fight, Maeve could tell, but still the blow surprised her. Had he ever hit a woman before in their past adventures? She couldn't recall for certain, but she was sure he never went as far as what he did next. As the blonde stumbled near the edge of the cliff, precariously searching for her balance, Sinbad simply stepped closer and punched her hard in the jaw, sending her tumbling down to her doom without even a hint of hesitation, eyes filled with dark satisfaction.

The blonde's scream echoed through the rippling water of the bath, sending a shiver up Maeve's spine as she simply stared at the man before her, breathing hard form the exertion of battle. She knew nothing of the nature of the quarrel that had fueled the fight, but she knew for a fact that he easily could have disarmed the woman and spared her life to make her pay for whatever trouble she had caused he and Rongar. So why kill her? Why end her life in cold blood? _That was not the man she knew._

With a pang of regret, Maeve also realized that he still hadn't traded his leather trousers for a more decent-looking sailor attire, a promise he'd made to her during the festival of Bakar a while ago. True, she was no longer there to ensure he kept his end of the bargain, but to see him still wearing those pants stung her hard, a small betrayal and dismissal towards her, because he knew exactly just how much she hated those pants. But what had mattered to her back then no longer seemed to matter to him now...

Maeve swallowed carefully past the forming lump in her throat and by the time she concentrated on the images stirring anew in the water, Sinbad was standing in front of another woman, with pale skin and a mane of long brown hair cascading down her back. She had just thrown a small bead-incrusted box in the fire of a big hearth, the flames igniting a purplish color as it consumed whatever the box had contained.

Confused, it took a moment for Maeve to remind herself that the magic often worked by jumping from past events to others more recent in time, thus always respecting the chronological order of the events but leaving the watcher with the task of patching up the blank holes between what was revealed. That was how the magic of the spell worked, showing the watcher either what he _wanted_ , _needed_ or _feared_ to see, which is why Dim-Dim had warned her many times how dangerous it could be.

But Maeve didn't care. Not tonight. Not when her longing for the crew and her desire to see them safe and unharmed drove her onward. She couldn't stop watching now, even if the heavy darkness in Sinbad's gaze ripped her apart as good as a butcher's knife.

What had the dark-haired woman just asked him?

Maeve frowned and focused on the images rippling on the surface of the water again.

Her answer came with a sharp stab of pain twisting in her heart like a barb, as Sinbad leaned in and kissed the woman, his hand tenderly spreading behind her head to hold her close. The woman seemed to drink him in as if it was the last kiss she would ever be granted, and Sinbad lost himself within her mouth as well.

When they parted, the ache in Maeve's chest was burning like a bonfire, but she strained her ears to understand what the pale-skinned brunette was saying, her words echoing through the water like a spell. She was thanking Sinbad for the kiss, and telling him she envied him. Because he had family. He had friends. _And he had love._

Maeve's heart skipped a beat at the last words, the air momentarily leaving her lungs, and she would have been a fool not to see the change in Sinbad's eyes right then and there, the tempered anger falling over his gaze like a veil, thick and dangerous, the subtle clench of his jaw and the twitch in his shoulder as he fought to maintain his composure. It crushed her. The weight of pain and regret she felt deep within her bones was right there in front of her, residing in the depth of his eyes as clear as water in a riverbed.

The sight suddenly became too much for her to bear and she had to blink away, unshed tears blurring her vision as the pale-skinned woman knelt down on the ground and suddenly melted away, the sands of time grinding her back into dust before the entire scene vanished, leaving Maeve alone in the crushing silence of the bathroom, miserable and heartbroken, a wounded animal with too many cuts and bruises to lick.

The water was cold and she shivered, her skin all wrinkled up at the tips of her fingers.

Confusion slowly seeped into her mind like a rooftop leaking with rain. Sinbad was clearly hurting just as much as she was, haunted by the same ghosts of regrets and longing, but why did it feel like he was slowly slipping away from the man she had known? Their predicament was unfair, terrible and devastating, and she knew people handled grief in their own different ways, but the intense anger that was emanating from him seemed so much fiercer and deadlier than the one smoldering within her own blood. Why? Why such harshness in battle? Why still the leather pants? Why such darkness in his eyes?

She prayed for the answers but none came to her, and she had to force herself out of the bath before the last remaining hours of the night dwindled away and she got no sleep at all.

Numb with emotion, drying herself up with a nearby towel and brushing a few tears away with her fingers, her feet guided her back to the living room where what was left of Robin's fire gently burned in the hearth with a dying flame. Passing by its warm caress and reviving its intensity with a magical flick of her hand, she then plunged into the cozy dimness of the bedroom. Not even caring what she was allowed to touch in the sumptuous suite, her fingers pulled at the drawers of the massive mahogany chest opposite the canopy bed and she rummaged through its content until she found something that looked like a nightgown. The long, flowing silky fabric was way too rich and delicate for her blood but she slipped it on anyway, letting the wet towel drop to the floor at her feet.

She then unceremoniously threw herself on the wide plush bed, and stared dazedly at the heavy swath of red cloth above her head, like a cloud of blood set to curse her entire future. It was a silly thought and she shut her eyes tightly, wishing for the embrace of sleep to claim her before her racing thoughts threatened to barrel her clear off a cliff of despair.

Surprisingly, her prayer was answered rather quickly as exhaustion won over everything else.

But the dreams that came to haunt her were that of a storm, raging oceans and ripping winds, a voice shouting her name in terror and a pair of sea-blue eyes.


	18. The Red Dress

[ ](https://imgur.com/Lk7T7lr)

**Chapter 14 – The Red Dress**

As soon as the door closed behind him Sinbad sagged against it, closing his eyes and resting the back of his head against the hard wood. A heavy sigh escaped him, his shoulders slumping down as he reveled in the silence, darkness and intimacy of his room, away from the crew's small talk and the concerned looks they had thrown his way every now and then on the whole ride back from Kalilah's castle.

He felt weary and emotionally drained, muscles wrung dry like roots. _And he felt angry_. This last cargo delivery had definitely not gone according to plan—it rarely did in the Nomad's case—but still he hadn't expected this whole adventure to be so strenuous on his nerves. As it was his heart wanted to burst out of his chest and never come back, and there was nothing more he wished to do than sleep for many long hours until he had no choice but to wake up and face the world again.

Wrenching himself from the door, he went to his desk and lit the single lantern that rested amongst the numerous rolls of maps scattered everywhere. The small flame produced very little light but it was enough for his current mood, the long shadows that sprouted to life and darkened the corners of his cabin somehow filling the emptiness he felt within. He removed his belt, hooking it over the back of his chair with his sword still in its sheath, then unlaced his navy-blue vest down the front, slipped out of it and draped it over the back of the chair as well.

His head ached, like a distant hammer pounding on iron. It had for most of the day now, pulsing slowly in his forehead and his temples, the tension radiating down the muscles in his neck and shoulders, stiff and sore like battered steel. He stretched the articulations a little and shuffled his feet to the bed. He could endure the physical discomfort for the night, but he knew for certain the emotional wreckage inside him would not allow him a peaceful slumber.

He sat down heavily on the simple mattress and rubbed his eyes with his forefinger and his thumb, yearning for the blackness of sleep, praying to find refuge in the realm of dreams even if there was a considerable chance they would torment him instead of grant him some relief. But he didn't care.

He just wanted to be with her.

Out of reflex his hand went to his pocket, his fingers finding the golden pin he kept with him at all times. He took it out and brushed his thumb over the Celtic knots delicately, remembering their intricate patterns.

He would dream about her again tonight, he was sure of it. She was always there, a faithful ghost to keep him company, every night since she had left, but he could never predict whether he would relive a precious moment they had shared, dream he was finding her at last, suffer the nightmare of the storm again or whether his imagination would prey on the longing in his heart and he would wake up with the pain of broken desire in his core.

He never knew what he was going to get, but it didn't matter because at least she was there. All he had to do was sleep and he could be with her.

But tonight he had the wicked feeling that things would be different, that the shadows would snatch her away from his grasp like righteous thieves sent to punish him. The thought nearly chocked him but it was quickly outmatched by the rising anger that pooled in his gut, spreading in his limbs like poison.

_He had kissed another today_.

Sinbad clenched his jaw at the memory, balling his hand into a fist around the golden pin, the sharp angles digging into his palm like barbs, painful and chastising.

He had granted a woman her last dying wish, risking his life in the process, not knowing what else to do. Kalilah had had her heart stolen and broken, and the ocean had stolen and broken his. It had seemed tragically fitting that he should kiss her, offering her this last taste of life before she died.

But while he had given her the peace she had desperately sought after all these years of misery, reuniting her with her heart at long last, she had in turn left him with a feeling of crushing emptiness, a mighty black void endlessly filling up with bitter regrets, unkept promises, missed chances, ghostly memories of secret smiles and fleeting touches...He had enjoyed the kiss—as ashamed as he was to admit it—but for the space of a tiny moment he had lost himself in an illusion, fiery curls slipping through his fingers like silk, a beautiful, cruel illusion that had swallowed him up whole, a fabrication of his weak mind that had been more than enough to rip him apart a little bit more inside.

The anger had been blazing within him since then, burning his flesh like a terrible sin he could not forget nor expunge from.

But the root of his torment didn't stem from Kalilah's kiss replacing the one kiss that meant everything to him. No. The last woman he had locked lips with hadn't even been Maeve anyway. It had been Cassandra, that young nymphet—as Maeve had called her—in the Vorgon's village, mere minutes after he and Maeve had embraced each other out of the blue.

But that insignificant kiss with the young woman back then had led to a promise. A substantial promise that he himself had made.

After his lip-lock with Cassandra, Maeve had obviously been green with jealousy but she had masterfully concealed it with a teasing, double-meaning comment.

_How nice it felt…_

He would never forget those words, candidly falling from her lips like a spell.

She had caught herself by specifying she was referring to their previous wild hope of reuniting with Dim-Dim, but he had known better. They had _both_ known better.

How nice it had felt indeed.

That day he had promised her that they would get that feeling again, and had they been willing to listen and stand witness to his pledge, he would have sworn an oath in front of all the gods right then and there.

But time had slowly slipped away like sand blown in the winds and his promise had wrinkled and crisped like an autumn leaf. He had never kept it, just like he had failed to protect her from the furious tempest that night where she had been so terribly scared, the ocean swallowing her whole like an unforgiving beast.

He should have claimed her lips…he should have held her back after she kissed his cheek for luck, _in case the sky fell on their heads_. He should have kissed her senseless until she forgot the entire world and all the threats that were lurking in the dark to get them.

But he hadn't. He had just stood there mindlessly, watching her retreating form down the hall as she woke the others, his cheek tingling with embers. A moment gone by as fast as a blink, seconds wasted and slipping out of his grasp as easily as water through his fingers.

Kalilah's kiss had only served to remind him of that broken promise he had never held, igniting the brazier of anger in the depth of his core, its flames mingling with the scorching longing that was constantly licking at his bones. But there was nothing he could do about it, nothing except try to numb the pain as hard as he could, to douse the fire by any means possible.

But right now, in the darkness of his cabin in the middle of the night, weary and defeated with her golden pin crushed in his palm like shattered glass, he could feel his composure slipping away, his mind treacherously drifting to that night where he had yet again been granted an opportunity to honor his promise, and where he had once again let it slip through his fingers…

" _Sinbad?" Her voice echoed behind his cabin's door. "Are you ready?"_

" _Aye, you can come in," he called back as his fingers worked on the buckle of his new belt and he fetched his white shirt on his desk._

" _We're going to be late-" He heard the latch of his door click open as she stepped inside his cabin, but then her voice abruptly went dead._

_Pausing halfway before he slipped his shirt on, wondering why she had gone silent so suddenly, he turned around to face her and this time he was the one who lost his voice._

_Standing in his doorway, frozen in place and wearing a long, stunning red dress that made her look nothing short of a goddess, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life. She was all soft and fiery and regal at the same time, a bewitching spirit from a distant realm come to steal the wind from his lungs and bring him to his knees. It was a dress from Queen Nadia's chest, he was sure of it, stunning and elegant with a wide oval neckline adorned with a rim of gold that matched a belt of large golden coins resting lowly on her hips, with a string of the same round coins falling down in the middle all the way to the floor at her feet. Long red sleeves with golden rims fell from her arms as well like rivers of fire and blood, and with her flaming red hair gorgeously framing her face, it was all Sinbad could do not to stare at her dumbfoundedly like a stunned fish._

_But then he noticed she was staring right back at him with equal shock stamped on her features, her cheeks flushed bright red like her dress as her eyes unabashedly traveled down his body._

_That's when he realized he was half-naked, his white shirt still clutched in his hand as he had been about to slip it on when she came in. He felt himself blush instantly, the heat rushing to his ears and his exposed flesh, and suddenly their eyes met across the room._

_He cleared his throat and swallowed hard, attempting to find his voice past the initial shock of her singular beauty and past the embarrassment of standing before her utterly shirtless. "You look stunning," he stuttered a little, his eyes briefly travelling down her striking silhouette again before he quickly caught himself._

" _Thank you." She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, looking like she was fighting the redness in her cheeks and cursing herself not to blush any further. "You look…" her voice trailed off as her eyes travelled past his bare chest and down to his trousers, a frown furrowing her brow. "Is that leather?"_

_Avoiding her gaze awkwardly, he finally slipped his white shirt on, welcoming the garment as it brought back some measure of physical barrier between them. "I have nothing else to wear," he proceeded to explain. "The soup I spilled this morning made an awful stain and when I tried to scrub it off with Firouz's detergent, the product literally burned a hole through the fabric."_

_Maeve blinked, eyeing him up and down once more as if he was a completely different man, looking confused and debating something in her head before she quickly came to a conclusion. "You look like a pirate."_

_He snatched the blue vest he had found in his chest of spare clothes and put it on to complete the look, chuckling at her biting comment before adding his two cents. "It's not that bad. Besides it's really not as uncomfortable as I thought it would be." As he tucked the shirts into his pants, he waited for her to reply something but strangely she remained silent and frozen in his doorway, gaze still riveted on him like she couldn't compute his change of attire. There was still the faint hue of a blush on her cheeks, but it was the subtle, almost_ feral _glint in her eyes that suddenly made his blood threaten to rush back into his face like white hot flames. "What?" he finally asked her to snap her back to reality, unable to bear the weight of her scrutiny any longer, especially not with_ that _look in her eyes._

_She blinked again, twice, her gaze finally meeting his at last, and the spell was abruptly broken as she realized she'd been staring at him like a maid, her composure returning at the speed of light with another snippy comment. "You look ridiculous."_

_There was a criticizing lift in her eyebrows as they slid back into their usual banters, and Sinbad made a point of replying with a smug grin. "I happen to think I look quite dashing."_

_Maeve rolled her eyes, an amused and annoyed expression he knew quite well, and he beat her to it before she could wittily comment on his outfit again._

" _My only regret is…" he added with disappointment, lifting the remnants of his red bandanna up with a finger. "…that I won't be able to wear this again anytime soon."_

" _What happened to it?" Maeve frowned at the half-singed fabric, which was now too short for him to wrap around his head like he used to, and she took a step inside his cabin for closer inspection._

" _I accidently knocked the bottle of detergent over onto my desk," he explained regretfully, brushing a finger on the black blotch Firouz's inflammable product had made on the wooden surface of his desk. "It almost burnt through the wood as well."_

_Maeve leaned down a little to glance at the mark for herself, and shook her head at the upshot of the scientist's invention. "Unbelievable…" she muttered. "Good thing you didn't splash any of this onto yourself. You could have gotten serious burns."_

" _Trust me, the thought occurred to me." Sinbad agreed, then lifted a bandaged hand up, sporting two bandaged fingers. "But too late."_

_Maeve grimaced empathically. "How bad is it?"_

" _It stung surprisingly hard, but I'll live," he replied, balling his hand into a fist and curling his fingers to check the lingering, stinging pain. "Shall we?"_

_He dropped his bandanna on his desk and went about the task of fastening his blue vest so they could finally join the others on deck. In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if one of them showed up right now to inquire as to what was taking so long._

_He headed for the door, aiming to complete the lacing up on deck to save time, but when Maeve noticed how ineffectively he was faring with two bandaged fingers, she halted him and brushed his hands away. "Let me do that."_

_Sinbad froze, staring at her as she invaded his space and stood right before him, her head bent and her fingers expertly working with the ties of his vest. Strands of hair fell into her face as she concentrated on the task, a curtain of red curls veiling her eyes from him but still he watched her as she fixed his clothes, this godly woman dressed in fire, so calm and composed as she played the laces like the strings of a harp, as if this was completely normal and trivial._

_Only it was not._

_This was familiar, intimate…_ domestic _. This was something spouses did, and Sinbad had to swallow hard past the sudden warmth that swelled within him as he marvelled at the situation, at this little moment that spoke volume on how close he and Maeve had truly become despite everything that always held them back._

_A sudden urge to touch her abruptly possessed him, his hand aching to reach out and pull her flush against him, a fool with a death wish to burn himself to the fire of her flesh and drink from her lips until they were both winded and she reduced him to cinders. His heart flared in his chest, pounding like thunder so hard he feared she might feel it through the fabric of his shirt, betraying the rapidly coiling tension in his body, but just as his hand twitched at his side her voice shook him out of his daze as good as a bucket of cold water dumped on his head._

" _Here you go," she declared, stepping away to briefly admire her work and then quickly avert her eyes with an awkwardness that officially broke the moment, as if she could no longer bare the invisible heated tension between them._

_Sinbad felt himself rock back on the heels of his feet as he adjusted to the sudden distance between them, the heat of her previous closeness fading away and leaving him casting about to gather his composure until he glanced down at his laced vest and found his voice. "Thanks," he murmured, making a final adjustment on his belt as Maeve picked up his bandanna on his desk._

" _If you're not going to use this anymore, can I?" she asked, rubbing the fabric between her fingers._

_Sinbad glanced at his bandanna in her hand, wondering what she could possibly want with it. "If it doesn't fit around my head, I hardly think it's going to fit around yours."_

" _I know." Maeve rolled her eyes at his wittiness. "But I can tie my hair with it. It's going to fit with the dress."_

_Sinbad blinked, touched by her unexpected request to wear his old bandanna as a hairband. That little piece of cloth had become such a singular token of his identity that he never though he would one day relinquish it to somebody else. Not that he had much of a choice now anyway since it was singed in two halves, but still, the gesture of giving it away felt profoundly personal. But this was no stranger he was giving it to. It was Maeve. And there was a strange stirring within him at the thought that she wanted to own something that belonged to him._

" _Sure," he nodded after finally finding his voice and locking eyes with her. "Take it. It's yours."_

_Maeve smiled, that special smile she seemed to give only to him. "Thank you."_

_Then she went about the task of pulling her hair up in a messy bun, wrapping and tying them up with his bandanna with a few loose strands of red curls falling free and framing her beautiful face._

_And Sinbad once again marvelled at how easily they could dance on the edges of intense awkwardness one second and comfortable chitchat the next one, both being well-practiced in the art of wandering close to that inevitable flame between them, just enough to get warm, but never enough to get burned. It fascinated him._

" _Let's go," she finally declared, her hands still up to arrange her hair properly as she stepped to his door. "The others are waiting for us. We'll see what_ they _think about this new outfit of yours."_

_Sinbad held the door open for her and grinned smugly once more. "Like I said: dashing."_

" _Like I said: pirate," Maeve retorqued, lifting an eyebrow at his complacency, although Sinbad saw her eyes flick away to steal a glance at his general figure._

_Strangely satisfied about the way his new attire seemed to have a non-negligible effect on her, he followed her into the galley and up on deck where the soft light of dusk was warmly twinkling in the sky._

_"Well!" Doubar's colorful voice greeted them as they joined the crew on the main deck. "Aren't you two quite the sight for sore eyes!"_

" _Sorry again for your clothes, Sinbad," Firouz apologized. "I may have overestimated the inflammatory component in the ratio I used between the-"_

" _It's alright, Firouz," Sinbad cut him off politely, first because he wasn't really mad at his friend and second, because he mostly wanted to spare his crew another scientific lecture about this new revolutionary detergent he had invented. "I'm sure I'll find something suitable at the market square tomorrow."_

_After settling Dermott comfortably on her arm, her long red sleeves opening at her elbow and almost touching the planks on deck, Maeve tossed him a criticizing look. "You can't seriously be considering presenting yourself to the festival this way."_

_"Well, I'd rather be wearing leather than be naked," Sinbad replied, noticing the way she had steeled herself now that they were in front of the crew, the previous softness of her composure carefully hidden away._

" _I bet the girls wouldn't mind," Doubar jested under his breath as he leaned towards Rongar who hid a giggle in his hand._

_Maeve ignored the grinning duo and insisted again. "We can make a quick stop by the market right now. Maybe a few merchants are still-"_

" _We don't have time," Sinbad interrupted with a shake of his head. "We're already running late as it is."_

" _You like these pants, admit it," Maeve challenged him, tilting her head to the side as she rocked her weight on one hip._

" _No, I don't," Sinbad protested._

" _Yes, you do."_

" _No, I don't."_

" _Oh come on!" Maeve gestured to his trousers. "They're so tight I can't even understand how you put them on. How are you even going to dance?"_

" _Who says I'm going to dance?" Sinbad argued back, startled by her suggestion._

" _Doubar, will you knock some sense into him?"_

_Doubar held his hands up pacifically to avoid conflict. "Nice try, Maeve, but I'm not taking sides in one of your arguments. That's a mistake I don't intend to repeat."_

_Maeve sighed with irritation and latched her attention back on him. "You can be so stubborn sometimes."_

" _Look who's talking," Sinbad snorted._

_"What-" She opened her mouth to argue but Doubar finally stepped between them, urging them off the Nomad._

_"Come on, you two, let's get going before something catches on fire again."_

_Stifling a grin of victory as their disagreement was put on hold and he miraculously managed to have the last words out, Sinbad quietly followed his companions as they stepped off the Nomad onto the gangplank that led to the docks, watching with satisfaction as Maeve pressed her lips tightly together in annoyance. He made a point of walking behind her for a while to let her cool down, and also because that way he could steal a few glances at her alluring figure without being caught._

_They strolled down the cobbled-streets for some time, passing by deserted stalls and empty booths as the late afternoon sun cast long shadows between the buildings and bathed their white walls in warm gold. Maeve was surveying the market square like a hawk, as if hunting for a late-running merchant who might still be in business to sell him a new outfit, while he kept a wary eye out in return and hoped they wouldn't meet anyone._

_He couldn't help but wonder why she was so hellbent on seeing him out of this new attire and back to his old style. Why was she disliking it so much? Perhaps she simply needed some time to adjust to the change, but Sinbad could sense there was something more to it. While it was true Maeve had a fashionista side showing up every once in a while, appreciating nice garments and ogling over pretty dresses she wished she had the chance to wear more often, she was never shallow about it all. What was inside the book always mattered more to her than its cover, so her entire attitude about his new outfit had to be caused by something else, something that dug deeper._

_Judging by the awkward glint in her eyes and the near permanent flush in her cheeks earlier in his cabin, she was obviously uncomfortable and unsettled by something, as if sharp fangs were biting into her composure while she tried to maintain a façade of calm indifference. Only she was royally failing at it. The others didn't seem to notice as they walked down the streets, but many times Sinbad caught her stealing quick glances his way when she thought he wasn't looking, and her eyes seemed alight with a strange simmering flame, as if something feral and possessive had awakened within her._

_And then it dawned on him._ She was jealous _._

_She was jealous before she even had any cause to be, probably because she was anticipating the attention he would henceforth draw from other women dressed as he was, and she would have to deal with all the frustration that entailed. If his new outfit was having such an effect on her, then of course she'd be pissed about the effect it was bound to have on others._

_He had to admit he looked quite different indeed. His former outfit had been rather ample, masking the outline of most of his body under layers of slack cloth, whereas this new attire pretty much carved out his shape for everyone to see. And if he was honest with himself it made him feel a little self-conscious, but the feeling transformed into smug satisfaction every time he saw the blush returning to Maeve's cheeks. Cracking through her solid shell was hard enough to do, he would certainly try to enjoy this while he could._

_If she only knew what that dress of hers was doing to him as well…outlining her curves and filling his head with wild thoughts and shameful images…_

_But he shook them all aside as they walked towards the palace, its impressive, dome-shaped top rising above the buildings and the sound of its feasting crowd guiding them closer and closer._

_"Here we are," Doubar announced as they rounded the final corner, the lavish courtyard taking their breath away when it came into view._

_The massive double gates of the palace, their outer rims all gilded with gold leaves, stood wide open to the sides, revealing the interior of an immense courtyard surrounded with an arcade of tall granite columns rising many feet above their heads, beyond which the absence of ceiling cut the pale blue sky into a wide rectangle. Long, endless tables were erected on either side of the room, crumbling under the weight of hundreds of alluring dishes._

_Dozens upon dozens of people were already indulging in the annual feast, some seated on cozy cushions on the ground while others stood in small groups on the dancefloor, chatting with glasses of wine in their hands. Judging by the diversified clothes of the guests, there were obviously many economical statuses in the room, ranging from common merchants and farmers to noble aristocrats and lords. But all were meddling together in smiling conversations, while the women illuminated the scenery with their colorful dresses, some tending to young children while others swayed their hips on the dancefloor to the music of a small orchestra mounted on a small dais at the far end of the courtyard._

_"Nothing beats the annual festival of Bakar," Doubar marveled, eyes sparkling as he surveyed the buffet and assessed the entire gleam of the room._

_"So it would seem," Sinbad agreed, politely nodding to a valet in neutral white robes as the man bid them welcome and they officially stepped inside the vast square._

_"Sinbad!" His name immediately rang across the dancefloor as a young man, stylishly dressed in rich velvety green robes with golden embroidery, a reflection of his higher status, marched towards him with open arms._

_"Nejib!" Sinbad recognized him at once and happily returned the embrace with a squeeze of the lad's shoulders. "You were just a boy the last time I saw you! My, how you've grown!"_

_"It's all in the beard," Nejib replied with a smile, scratching his young stubbles with pride. "But look at you! Is this the new fashion trend on the high seas?"_

_"Not quite," Maeve smirked a little off to the side before Sinbad could answer. "He left his eye patch and his peg leg on the ship."_

_Doubar laughed loudly at her dry jest, immediately accompanied by Firouz and Rongar who giggled like children, before he joyously stepped past Sinbad's grumpy grimace to greet their long-time friend in a crushing hug. "It's good to see you, Nejib!"_

" _Doubar!" Nejib embraced him in return. "It's good to see you, too! All of you! My father was so happy when he learned you could come."_

" _It's been too long," Sinbad noted, biting his tongue not to snap back something witty in Maeve's direction. "How's Myriam?"_

" _Wonderful_ _as always," Nejib replied, a smile instantly illuminating his young face as he looked around to spot his wife and welcome her to their small group. "But she's gained a few pounds since the last time you saw her."_

" _Hello, Sinbad." Myriam emerged from the crowd, her long blond hair cascading over her shoulder on one side, almost touching the round belly that was softly bulging beneath her silky blue dress._

_Sinbad beamed as he exchanged cheek kisses with the young, expecting mother. "Congratulations to you both."_

" _Sinbad!"_

_As Nejib circled an arm around Myriam's waist, drawing her affectionally closer, an old man in solemn burgundy robes and a neat grey beard lively stepped up to join them._

_It was Merim, the minister of Bakar, an imposing man with kind eyes set in a generous round face, and gifted with a deep benevolent voice. "Thank the spirits you could join us! It's been so long! How have you been?"_

_Sinbad embraced his long-time friend with a smile and a pat on the back. "Never better. Calm seas. Good business. An amazing crew. I couldn't ask for more."_

" _I'm glad to hear it," Merim beamed as he welcomed Doubar in a strong hug then greeted Firouz and Rongar with friendly handshakes. "I hope you enjoy the festivities and-" He stopped when his eyes fell on Maeve, who stood beside Doubar with a polite smile on her lips._

_Merim stared at her, momentarily losing his voice, but then his mouth slowly curved into a wide grin. "Why, Sinbad, you didn't tell me you were married!" he exclaimed, swiftly taking Maeve's hand to drop a kiss on her knuckles. "It's a pleasure to meet you, my lady. You are a vision."_

_Sinbad drew in a sharp breath as his heart skipped a beat._

_The crew instantly broke into giggles again while Maeve's face turned as red as her dress. "Oh no, I'm…we're not-"_

" _We're not married." Sinbad stepped in to her rescue, politely correcting his friend._

"Yet _." Doubar quipped, joining Firouz and Rongar in their fits of giggles, while Nejib and Myriam bit their lips to restrain themselves from joining in the contagious laughter._

_Merim eyed the scene curiously while Maeve glared at Doubar and dropped her hand, struggling to hide the flush in her cheeks. "Oh. I see. My mistake," he apologized, glancing somewhat suspiciously at the chuckling crew. "All things in due time, I suppose."_

_His attention was then thankfully diverted by a white-robed valet who leaned in to speak with him._

_Merim nodded to the young lad before addressing the crew once more. "Well, I'll be with you in a few minutes. Please, take a seat and enjoy the food, the wine, the music. Make yourselves at home and I will be right back."_

" _We sure will," Doubar bowed his head, still giggling despite Maeve's burning glower, as Merim retreated into the crowd to greet other guests._

" _This way," Nejib extended his arm to guide them towards empty seats at the nearest long table, clearly still amused by the scene he had just witnessed._

_The giggling crew followed after him and Sinbad fell into steps with Maeve, placing a hand at the small of her back to guide her forward. "After you,_ wife _," he said under his breath, picking up on the crew's tease despite the tight coils in his nerves._

_Maeve swatted him in the abdomen right away, brow still furrowed in annoyance. "You wish."_

_She was obviously embarrassed by the situation, the red flush of heat still burning strong in her cheeks. Her expression would almost have been cute and comical if not for the fact that Sinbad knew she was probably fuming beneath it all._

_But shouldn't Merim's honest mistake make her happy somehow? If the simple act of standing next to each other led people to believe they were married, then logically she would have fewer pestering women to worry about lurking around him, no?_

_Sinbad's palms burned at the thought that this was the image they were projecting, and he was half a mind to suddenly yank Maeve against him and claim her lips to seal the masquerade for the night, but he quickly tamed the wild urge by fisting his hands at his side, preventing himself from reaching out to her._

_When they all sat down at the luscious table, he strategically positioned himself between Maeve and Doubar to keep her from roasting his brother for his mocking comments, and eventually the crew's giggles died down as they all began to dig into the food, piling pitas and fruits and different mashes onto their plates, although Maeve's first instinct was to reach for the wine after Dermott took flight and perched on a nearby lantern behind them._

_They ate and chatted socially, listening as Nejib discussed his father's peaceful politics with Bagdad and his economic trade contracts with lesser villages in the area. Merim eventually joined their company, adding his point of view to the conversation and addressing his projects for the nearby future, like the construction of a dozen windmills along the river to optimize the production of grains for his people._

_Many subjects followed each other; Nejib's training as the future minister, Myriam's pregnancy, the places the Nomad had visited over the past year, their next destinations. At some point, Rongar was lured away from the table to the dancefloor by a shy woman in a purple dress, Firouz and Merim became engaged in a deep conversation about the latest discoveries in the bubbling world of science, and Doubar began reminiscing the crew's adventures with Nejib at the lad's request. The only problem was that the ale did little to censure his tales, and whenever the subject veered towards his and Maeve's many moments of bickering and teasing, Sinbad kicked him under the table while Maeve silently seethed on his other side, hiding her face in her glass of wine and probably biting hard on her tongue not to correct the stories according to her version of the events._

_At some point, it was Myriam who came to her rescue, snatching Maeve away to introduce her to the few magic practitioners of the city, an invitation which Maeve eagerly accepted after downing the rest of her wine in one swift motion._

_Disappointment swelled within him as she left his side, his eyes lingering on her retreating form as she faded into the crowd like a ghost, the blood in his veins pumping slightly harder when he noticed the feral look in the other men's eyes as she glided past them in her stunning red dress, an ethereal goddess made flesh. It made him wish they would make the same mistake as his friend Merim; assume that she was married, that she was his. That way it would be clear she was off limits and the men wouldn't look at her with such open covetousness._

_To think Maeve's disgruntled behaviour all evening stemmed from her fear that his new outfit would lure women to his side like moths to a flame while she watched in quiet dismay…yet now here he was, the situation turned upside down as he was the one battling with the hungry bite of possessiveness ripping at his core. Unbelievable._

_It wasn't the first time Maeve was turning heads in her wake of course, and most of the time it usually stirred warm pride within him, but not tonight._

_Tonight, he wanted everyone in the courtyard to know that the woman in the red dress belonged to him._

_Tonight, he wanted her to himself._

_Sipping his wine as he officially lost sight of her in the crowd, his mind began filling up with all sorts of ideas about how he could make it up to her for all of the crew's teasing and giggling she had endured so far. Most of those ideas consisted of sneaking off into the night at some point, to heed the call of that heated hunger that had briefly shone in the depth of her gaze hours ago in his cabin when they were alone. He longed to see that look in her eyes again, to meet it with the same scorching thirst, to steal her breath away with his lips, to let his hands-_

_Reining his thoughts in with a small groan of admonishment, he tried to bring his attention back to the ongoing conversations at the table, but miserably failed to properly focus on any of them. All he knew was that at some point, Merim excused himself to speak with an associate merchant, Rongar made it back to their table with the girl in a purple dress stuck to his side, only stopping briefly to drink some ale before heading back to the dancefloor as a new tune reverberated around the room, while Firouz scooted closer on the bench to join in on Doubar and Nejib's conversation._

_With hundreds of torches and lanterns hanging all around the courtyard in iron brackets fixed on the dozens of columns, the bright golden light of the party never even dimmed when night gradually settled in. Sinbad only noticed how much time had passed when he glanced up and saw the stars and the moon sparkling in the velvety sky._

_As he glanced around however, the life of the party was far from dwindling. The festive orchestra was still playing lively tunes for the people of Bakar to enjoy, there was still ample food on every table and much wine still to drink._

_He nibbled at a few grapes, distractedly listening to Firouz telling the tale of how his ruby beamer invention had nearly started a war on the Ilse of Corusar, while Doubar pointedly observed that the laser in question had also nearly singed off his jewels. Much to Nejib's pleasure, the conversation then turned into a friendly banter between the two men, with Doubar complaining about the fact that he often served as a guinea-pig for Firouz's inventions, recalling the time when the inventor's solar-powered beard trimmer hadn't been much of a success._

_After some time listening to their harmless quarrel, Sinbad finally decided to stretch his legs a bit, using that as an excuse to go look for Maeve amidst the crowd, but then as if on cue his eyes caught sight of a red dress on the opposite side of the room._

_Tilting his head for a better view across the dancefloor, past the flowing crowd of dancers, he saw her sitting at another long table, casually conversing with a roguish man with sweeping blond hair, who looked nothing like a magic practitioner or a wizard. Dancers kept fractioning his view of the scene but Sinbad could clearly see them laughing, the two of them leaning close as they spoke over the music, her wide smile shining like a beacon for sailors lost at sea._

_The sight sprang him into action in an instant, limbs and muscles suddenly alight with liquid fire. Excusing himself, he finished his glass of wine in one gulp, stood up and left the table, with Doubar, Firouz and Nejib only absently acknowledging his sudden departure._

_Keeping a raptor eye on Maeve across the room, but especially on the blond man and his every move, Sinbad weaved his way through the crowd like a wolf circling a prey, moving along the outskirts of the dancefloor with measured steps as his mind spun like a wheel until the simplest idea struck him._

_When he reached the orchestra energetically engaged in an upbeat jig, he leaned in towards the closest musician, a white-haired harpist who was currently clapping her hands and not playing. He beckoned the old woman closer so she would hear him as he spoke in a low voice, asking for a special request for the next tune and hoping she and her comrades would know the specific song he had in mind. When the elderly harpist nodded with a smile, her old eyes wrinkling in kind, he smiled back in gratitude and returned his attention back to the room, this time heading straight for Maeve as his heart flared in his chest like a mighty storm threatening to unleash hell upon earth if anyone stopped him._

_She had her back to him from where she was comfortably seated beside the handsome blond man, and he could tell by the small tremors in her shoulders that she was laughing again, clearly entertained by whatever her interlocutor was saying, which was probably some lame joke at best._

_Sinbad skittered past a group of playful children, ducked beneath the food tray a valet was carrying above his head, then annoyedly removed the wanderings hands of a young woman who vainly attempted to invite him over for a drink._

_He was halfway to his destination when the current tune sounded its final notes, the jig softly dying down as dancers halted their steps to clap joyfully in appreciation of the orchestra's talents. The majority of them stayed on the dancefloor, awaiting the next tune, while a few patches of people glided away to catch their breath and indulge in a few refreshments._

_The throng of retiring dancers to the tables slowed Sinbad's progress but his eyes never left Maeve's back, and when the first notes of his requested song finally rang in the room under the harpist's expert fingers, the chattering of people in the entire courtyard abruptly lowered, men and women craning their necks to steal curious glances at the orchestra and straining their ears to identify this foreign song they had rarely, if ever, heard before tonight._

_As the buzzing festivities considerably dimmed in the room like a thin veil slowly depositing over the crowd, with everyone intrigued and pausing to listen, it took a moment for Maeve to show any kind of reaction, her senses probably not paying enough attention to the palpable shift in the room and the music. But when the single fiddle echoed at last with the melody she knew so well, Sinbad saw her shoulders tense and her head snap to the side, her brown eyes scanning the crowd to anchor on the musicians as both surprise and puzzlement stamped themselves on her beautiful features._

_It was the Skye Boat Song._

_Sinbad moved again, staying his course and knowing full well he was the only person still moving in the courtyard, which made it easier for Maeve to spot him, a lone figure walking amidst frozen statues. Her eyes locked with his across the distance, as if nothing else but him suddenly existed in her world, the blond man beside her vanishing completely._

_People chattered quietly all around, puzzling at what was going on while many inquiring gazes settled on them._

_When he reached her side at last, his entire body taut as a bow string and ready to snap, he was lost within the storm of emotions in her eyes before he could take another breath, her beautiful gaze looking up at him, overwhelmed, touched, exposed…And then a strange calmness swiftly overtook him like a gentle wave, and his hand extended down to her as easily as blinking._

_She looked down at the invitation with speechless surprise, her dark eyes staring at his outstretched palm like some ancient, precious relic unearthed from its hidden cave._

" _I seem to recall you took a rain check the last time I asked," he spoke softly, referring to the evening they had shared on the beach after the battle of Skull Mountain, where she had declined his invitation to dance and instead chose the quiet reclusion of the beach._

_His words seemed to shake her back to reality, awareness sinking back into her gaze, and a special smile curved her lips, the smile she gave only to him. With no hesitation she slipped her hand in his and he pulled her up from her seat, their private shields properly discarded as he led her to the dancefloor under the many sweet glances and tender smiles directed their way._

_Out of the corner of his eyes, as the citizens of Bakar began paring up into couples, the men lovingly embracing their women as they gently let themselves sway to the unusual Celtic music, Sinbad noticed the crew at the distant table, grinning like pumpkins to the sound of the beautiful song they had recognized as well. He paid them no attention, his focus entirely anchored on the woman he was guiding to the center of the dancefloor, to a spot the other dancers seemed to have deliberately left empty for them._

_For Sinbad the Sailor and the Woman in the Red Dress._

_With Maeve's flaming red hair matching the foreign notes of the music like some ancient muse, it was obvious the special song was playing on her behalf, and with Sinbad as her leading partner it was twice as obvious that he had been the one requesting it for her._

_Turning to face her as they both stopped in the middle of the dancefloor at their dedicated spot, she was looking at him completely wide-eyed, pupils blown with warmth and longing, yet not without a flicker of fear at such a public display of affection. She looked halfway between wanting nothing more than to mold against him forever, and a prey ready to bolt into the darkness before she was trapped. His own gaze probably matched hers with equal warmth and insecurity, but a strange calmness continued to thrum through his body like a spell, and before all the fears and questions and doubts could rise to the surface he gently snaked an arm around her slender waist and pulled her close, their hands remaining linked on his chest near his heart._

_With the distance finally abolished between their bodies, the chance to bolt away no longer an option, he felt her relax instantly, her free hand coming up to rest on his shoulder, the long sleeve of her red dress cascading down his arm like a drape of blood while her red hair glinted in the torchlight like bright copper. Her face was mere inches from his, their breaths mingling together as he softly started them into motion, gently swaying to the lyrical version of the Skye Boat Song._

_"You look beautiful," he whispered in her ear. He had already told her as such earlier on the Nomad, but back then he had been too stunned to react otherwise, voicing out the compliment impulsively whereas right now his words were coated with genuine honesty._

_Maeve smiled softly against him, then pulled away just enough to meet his eyes. "You don't look so bad yourself," she conceded, almost half-reluctantly._

" _Really?" he smirked in satisfaction at her first nice comment about his outfit. "Is that so?"_

_She rolled her eyes and leaned her head back against the side of his. "Don't let it get to your head."_

_He chuckled softly, then gave her hand a little squeeze. "If you really don't like it, I'll buy something else first thing in the morning."_

_She grew silent as she considered his offer. "I guess you can keep the shirt," she began, bargaining with him. "But leather does not become you."_

_Accepting the deal, he secured his hold around her waist. "Fair enough."_

_He felt her smile against him again, her cheek slightly brushing his as the orchestra's bittersweet rendition of the Sky Boat Song lulled them into a gentle trance, their bodies rocking together while their feet barely moved._

_It was a tender moment, one he wished he could bottle up or freeze forever as easily as he could lock a treasure in a chest. He wanted to engrave every detail of it in his mind; the sound of the lonely fiddle and the harp resonating in the courtyard, the heat of her supple body against him, the warmth of her hand resting on his shoulder and the weight of her sleeve brushing his arm, the soft skin at the nape of her neck where the core of her scent seemed to be stowed, sweet and intoxicating. She smelled like lavender. Sea lavender. A floral scent that always reminded him of the coast, of the shore. But not just any shore._ She smelled like home _. A port he would always sail back to._

_He found himself closing his eyes, and as the nostalgic melody played for them, his mind drifted away to everything they had gone through in the past year, memories and adventures following one another in his head like the pages of a book, every victory they had celebrated after all the evil they had defeated, every close call they had faced, cheating death and sailing on, all the dangers that were yet to ambush them in the dark…_

_But let them come, he thought with fervour. He would shield her from it all. This woman he was dancing with, who bore the scars of all the hardships life had put her through. A woman whose flesh was fire, a fierce warrior, a powerful sorceress, a spirited temper, a compassionate soul, a secretive heart. He was holding her in his arms right now, all of her, this woman he admired so much. And by the gods, he never wanted to let her go._

" _What do you think hurts the most?" Her small voice plucked him out of his thoughts. "Saying something and wishing you hadn't? Or saying nothing and wishing you had?"_

_Her unexpected words jolted him as good as an arrow, stealing his breath and his voice like a mighty blow to the chest. Her voice was soft and sad, a tiny trace of curiosity laced through it but nothing more, and they both knew it was a rhetorical question. Wikken Hells, he knew the answer, and she damn well knew it too. Silence was always their choice, lest a few words gave shape to this thing between them, this_ thing _that had the power to change their little world forever. A few words that could grant them everything they dreamed of, and yet at the same time shackle them with the fear of losing it all._

_So why ask the question if they both already knew the inevitable answer? Why torment and corner him with the choice? To shove him into action? To dare him to break this cursed yet secure silence between them?_

_He racked his brain for the right words to use, for the words she wanted to hear, his pulse rising in his throat with every second while his body spoke on its own accord, his arm coiling tighter around her waist to press her closer against him, a simple gesture that screamed louder than any word he could possibly utter._

_"I'm still trying to figure it out," he murmured with sorrow in her ear. "But I suppose actions can be just as loud as words. Perhaps that's enough." His voice nearly trembled, gruff and low, and he had to steady himself before seeking her approval. "What do you think?"_

_He gave her hand a squeeze, tucking it more securely between them and over his heart, hoping his answer was enough for her sake as he waited for her response. The fiddle and the harp continued playing, the music swallowing everything in its bittersweet tune as the seconds trickled by endlessly, the wait nearly driving him mad._

_He was on the verge of cursing himself into oblivion when he felt her hand move in his palm, her fingers linking through his like she had done a week ago on the beach, in that most intimate moment they had ever shared. She pulled away just enough to rest her brow against his, her free hand gliding higher on his shoulder to lock around his neck, an even more intimate gesture. "Aye," she rasped lowly. "Perhaps that's enough."_

_He swallowed thickly, her lips so temptingly close he had to painfully restrain himself not to lean in and claim them, not with such a large crowd floating around them to witness their embrace. He wanted her to himself, away from prying eyes, his hands aching and burning with the feral urge to whisk her away, somewhere in the darkness between all those numerous columns surrounding the courtyard, somewhere in a quiet hallway where he could press her against a wall and kiss her senseless._

_His state of urgency was only heightened when the long notes from the fiddle slowly began to drag away in the night's air, the song close to an end. Gods be good, not yet, he pleaded silently._

_He felt her stiffen in his arms as she sensed the end of the tune as well, her lips slightly parted and hanging inches from his own, a cure to his torment so easy to reach and yet impossibly hard to touch. He couldn't help but shudder against her, his breathing growing heavier as his composure threatened to slip away like a swirl of smoke._

_But then the Skye Boat Song was over. Just like that._

_The fiddle and the harp died down in the courtyard and a cloak of silence engulfed them all like a mighty dark cloud. The dancers all around them seemed to emerge from a dream, with no sound to be heard except for the distant claps echoing from the tables in appreciation of the musicians._

_He stopped swaying yet was unable to move further at all, his feet rooted in place like stone. Maeve barely moved as well, her warm body still locked with his like a coil of vines impossible to pry apart, theirs arms and hands refusing to let go while they both clung to this moment between them, a moment that was dissolving faster with every second their senses sank back to the reality of their surrounding._

_A drop of rain falling on her collarbone was what broke the spell. Then another on his cheek._

_Soon a small drizzle was clinking on glasses and plates like chimes ruffled in the winds, with people gasping and gazing up to the sky._

_Maeve's arm untangled from his neck and her hand returned to his shoulder, her beautiful face pulling away to look up at the gathering clouds and he watched like a man entranced as little drops of rain landed on her forehead, beaded on her nose and caught in her eyelashes. He felt utterly powerless when his own arm relinquished its firm hold on her waist, allowing their bodies to slowly pry themselves loose from one another._

_"Looks like the sky is about to fall on our heads," she said, like an eerie premonition._

_A rumble of thunder followed her words, ripping the night's sky above them and startling everyone in the courtyard. The light rain then rapidly progressed to heavy drops, promising the arrival of a full volley, with people scurrying to take cover, hiding in the shades of the tall colonnade that framed the banquet while the valets in their white robes rushed to salvage what was left of the buffet and the wine._

_But still neither of them moved._

_Maeve brought her beautiful gaze back to him, their fingers still linked together like unbreakable mail, and time seemed to stop once more. He let his eyes unabashedly travel down to her lips, which had been his to capture just a few seconds ago. His entire body was pulled taught like a bowstring, ready to snap into action despite the rain sinking into his clothes and into her hair, the urgency returning to his core like claws ripping at his nerves._

_He felt himself move forward just when the volley began, a downpour so violent they were drenched to the bone within seconds and she gasped at the unexpected coldness of it all. Lightening flashed and thunder roared, and she was tugging on his hand to seek shelter before he could even blink the rain out his eyes._

_A few steps and they were huddled beneath the towering columns amidst the chattering citizens of Bakar, the crowd of people around them properly shattering their previous bubble of intimacy once and for all. But a low groan of refusal escaped him when he felt her hand slip out of his palm and he swiftly gripped harder, refusing to let her go as his arm snaked back around her waist like an iron band, stubbornly securing her close to him once more as he leaned against the granite column behind him._

_He shook water out of his eyes and when he could finally look at her, wetter than a fish and beautiful and perfect, hair soaked and tousled, skin flushed pink and dark eyes alight at the spectacle of summer rain, she was smiling. A smile so carefree and happy, devoid of that shade of sorrow that was always lurking in the depth of her gaze like shifting demons, the shadows of her past she carried with her everyday. But he couldn't see them now, and the sight of her, unburdened and beaming, made his heart combust and crack open._

_She was smiling. And that was enough._

Sinbad shut his eyes painfully, the pointy edges of her small golden pin drawing ridges in his flesh as he furiously crushed it in his palm, desperate to hold on to the memory before it vanished in the dark like misty ghosts stealing her away. He rested his arms over his knees and hung his head down, the formidable wave of heartache that washed over him almost making him nauseous.

He had been such a fool.

It had been enough back then. The slow dance, their intimate embrace, her bright smile, their renewed vow of silence as they discarded words to the winds once more and chose to rely on touch instead.

It had been enough.

But it no longer was. At least, not for him.

Wikken Hells, he should have said something, should've put a name to that elusive _thing_ between them, to anchor it in reality once and for all, tangible and true, like the colors of a flag meant to be hoisted high. But he hadn't. He'd always been better at show than tell anyway, but even his heated impulse to kiss her had been brutally rebuked by the pouring rain, like a thundering warning sent by the gods to rattle his little world.

It wasn't enough anymore.

Not since the storm.

That cursed storm that had robbed them of farewell, robbed them of time and words. If he had known what would happen that night when she was violently ripped from his life, he would have torn the world asunder just to have a few minutes with her, just a few seconds for one last kiss and a whispered promise.

Wikken Hells, he never even had time to buy proper trousers. The merchants from Bakar had offered no satisfying alternative so Maeve had agreed to wait for the next port to change his attire. But the storm had hit five days later. And just like that she was gone. And the leather pants remained, his own rebelling statement against the world, another promise unkept, tossed into the pile with all the others he had miserably failed to keep.

Anger suddenly rose within him again, dark and foul and poisonous, with the violent need to punch something hard to drive back the insufferable pain.

That _fucking_ storm.

He shut his eyes and ran a heavy hand over his face, the words she had spoken that night sounding in his head like a bad omen. _Looks like the sky is about to fall on our heads._ The near exact copy of what she had said to him below deck right before the ocean had roared to life in the most formidable tempest he had ever sailed through.

By the gods, he wanted to return to that festival, to let his mind travel back to that dance as its final notes billowed away like smoke, to alter the events and shove himself into motion, to capture her lips and drink from her mouth and dig his fingers into the fabric of that red dress of hers until he was nothing but ashes at her feet.

But he wouldn't dream about that tonight.

Suddenly he knew.

He would dream about the storm.

He'd initially feared she would desert his dreams, a fair punishment for what he had done today, kissing another woman while sinking into a fickle illusion of flames and sea lavender, but he should have known better.

The punishment he would get would be equally chastising. As he opened his palm and watched the tiny red ridges that marred his flesh in the wake of her golden pin, he knew she'd come to him still, a faithful goddess wounded by betrayal, and he would hear her scream his name over thunderous waves and he would watch as she fell into the rampant darkness of the ocean.

Tonight, the sky would fall over their heads, and he would lose her all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the version of the Skye Boat Song that plays during their dance :)  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5IwsLowMICk&list=PLSg-QcNY5UvPx5hrziRMXX6n3b5pr1zRu&index=24
> 
> Have a nice day! xoxox


	19. No Turning Back

**Chapter 15 – No Turning Back**

Maeve stirred, slowly emerging from a bedlam of tormenting dreams, and groggily buried her face in the pillow beneath her to escape the sharp brightness that warmed her eyelids. Unable to claim sleep again, she attempted to open her eyes but was forced to squint against the overwhelming luminosity. When she could finally catch a glimpse of her surroundings, it took her a moment to register where she was, but the rich drapes of the canopy above her head quickly served to jog her memory.

Twisting around in the large supple bed, limbs heavy with slumber, she realized the bright sunlight was coming from a pair of double glass doors that led out to a balcony she hadn't even noticed the night before. Reluctantly pushing herself up to a sitting position, she rubbed sleep out of her eyes and when she stole a glance outside beyond the glass doors, the view immediately took her breath away. Her suite was so high up in the Council that she could see all the way to the ocean in the distant horizon, where the sun of dawn was emerging from the waterline like a tiny, blazing fireball.

She was about to swing her legs out of the covers to get up and enjoy the view from the balcony itself when she froze in sudden alarm.

The sun was up. It was dawn.

_The trek was leaving at dawn._

_Fuck._

In a flash, she scurried out of bed, her heartbeat flaring up inside her chest like a wild horse whipped into full gallop.

Why had no one come to wake her up?!

Scooping up the towel she had dropped on the floor at the foot of the bed last night, she hurried out of the bedroom and dashed into the bathroom where she'd left her clothes.

Quickly, as the cold hard tiles under her feet effectively chased away the remnants of sleep in her entire body, she slipped out of her nightgown, which she noticed was a ridiculous baby pink color, tossed it aside unceremoniously and went about the task of dressing up, fondling with the legs of her dark brown trousers, the sleeves of her blue shirt and the clasps of her new black corset.

Clumsily hopping on her feet as she slipped on her boots, her fingers grappled for her daggers to properly sheathe them into place while she rushed towards the door, cursing under her breath as she bumped a hip against a decorative table.

Flushed, she emerged out into the hallway only to freeze on the spot in an abrupt halt, finding Leisa casually leaning on the granite column opposite her room, her arms crossed over her chest and a smirk plastered on her face.

Maeve blinked in surprise with a flash of annoyance. "What are you doing here?"

The smirk tugged on the Radakeel's lips. "Waiting for you, to escort you down to the courtyard," she simply answered with her usual stern composure, her long braided hair cascading over her shoulder like lava. "Wouldn't want you to get lost in the maze of corridors and staircases, now would we?" Not waiting for an answer, she tilted her head to the left side of the hall. "This way."

Still flustered by her hasty awakening, Maeve shut the door of her room behind her and quickly followed after the black-skinned woman clad in black leather, frustration rising in her blood. "Why didn't you wake me? It's past dawn!"

"The trek is not leaving before at least another hour," Leisa assured her plainly. "There was no need to wake you sooner."

As they descended a wide staircase that spiraled in on itself, Maeve kicked herself for oversleeping and attempted to tame her tousled hair into a presentable state, while memories of the previous evening slowly crept into her mind with a vengeance, with disconnected fragments of the dreams that plagued her during the night surfacing to nibble at the edges of her thoughts. A storm-tossed ocean with ropes that slipped between her numb fingers, ice-cold waters that stabbed at her skin like blades, a pale-skinned woman with long dark hair pleading a kiss from Sinbad, the dark anger that shone in the dept of his eyes, black and dangerous...

The shady memories quickly made her feel grumpy and irritated, like a stone of frustration was heavily sitting in the pit of her stomach, and by the time she and Leisa joined everybody else in the soldiers' compound by emerging from a side door between the tall colonnade, Maeve desperately wanted to punch something, anything to discharge the rising morass and helplessness within her core.

But there was no release to be had and she had no choice but to discard it all, out of sight and out of mind, like a thick book shut close, for it was time to steel herself for the upcoming trek through the Blind Mountains.

Buzzing with frenzied activity, the courtyard was even more crowded than the day before, if that was even possible, with volunteers and soldiers packing themselves up like mules and pachyderms, hoisting backpacks, bags, satchels of food and numerous deadly weapons onto their shoulders. The loud cacophony of people felt like a slap in the face compared to the quiet gloomy storm inside her head but Maeve continued to snuff it out like a flame, remembering why she was here in the first place, to help these people as best as she could and get to Denwood in one piece to meet Jacob.

"Follow me," Leisa instructed her as she guided her through the thick throng of people, weaving her way towards the front of the courtyard and the flight of white marble stairs that lead back inside the Council's main entry.

After much shouldering and side-stepping and elbowing, they finally reached Simon, Mark, Leo and Coop who were distributing chimes and weapons to their carefully appointed owner at the base of the grand white stairs, a line of volunteers slowly trailing before them to gather their equipment.

In stark contrast with the previous night where they had all been wearing nothing but simple clothes, Robin's companions were now all wearing soldier garbs; simple mid-sleeved deep blue shirts beneath sturdy leather cuirasses and leather plastrons that securely covered their shoulders and torsos, offering the perfect combination of protection for battle and liberty of movement for trekking. Swords were strapped to their backs with the hilt easily within reach above their shoulders, as well as bows and quivers full of arrows, not to mention their belts hooked with an impressive array of knives and daggers.

A brave fellowship ready for combat, they looked quite the handsome and deadly lot, Maeve thought, as did all the other soldiers gearing up around her within the compound, even the volunteers who were also given light leather armors to wear.

For a moment, it gave her chills down her spine to imagine so many civilians facing off against brutal Skinwalkers and Kawasseas, but Leo's bright smile chased her worry away before it could take root.

"Good morning," he greeted her happily, his youthful eyes gleaming with warmth and good nature as he invited her to sit on an empty crate.

Head spinning with the vibrant commotion all around, she returned the young soldier his smile and kindly nodded to the others before taking the offered seat, noting that Robin was absent amongst them and that Leisa had suddenly disappeared.

"Good morning, _Your Grace_ ," Coop bowed to her flirtatiously with a flourish of his hand, his foreign accent adding to his roguish character. His choice of title as he addressed her prickled her skin for a moment, but not as much as the sudden silence that settled over their small group as if he had just uttered a seriously bad joke.

Before she could even reply to his salutation, Simon grabbed his companion by the arm to admonish him. "That's not funny," he scolded his friend in quiet warning, with a tightness in the set of his jaw that didn't escape Maeve's notice even if the blonde captain tried to maintain a semblance of normalcy.

"Easy, mate," Coop shrugged his friend's concern with a light smirk. "No harm done with a simple word."

"Choose it wisely next time," Simon warned him again, letting his position of authority sink in for a few seconds before smiling deferentially at her and stepping away when he felt Coop understood the message well enough.

Maeve eyed his retreating form into the crowd of people with puzzlement, but Coop turned his attention back to her before she could ask what their tensed exchange about a mocking 'Your Grace' was all about.

"Soo..." The tanned-man began as he discarded an empty crate, a wicked grin dancing on his lips. "Have you reconsidered my invitation?"

Maeve raised her eyebrows at him, dimly recalling the moment at dinner last night when he had offered she could make it up to him in exchange for everything he and his friends were doing for her. "Is that what you call it? An invitation?"

"You can call it whatever you want, My Lady," Coop said, picking another title to address her as he winked at her, his black hair sweeping on his forehead.

Amused by his determination, Maeve almost rolled her eyes. "I promise if I change my mind, you'll be the first to know."

"The sooner the better," he replied hopefully. "Before we all die in those cursed woods…"

"Are you pestering her again, Coop?" Mark's strong voice resonated in the air as he handed a quiver and a bow to a young volunteer.

"It's called _flirting_ ," Coop quipped to his comrade.

Mark shook his head. "You're wasting your energy, mate. She's out of your league by a thousand miles."

"Perhaps, but faint hearts never won fair maidens," Coop mused with a sing song voice. "This could be the beginning of a beautiful, epic love story. Who knows?"

" _I_ know," Leisa barked as she rejoined their group like a snarling panther. "I should have your head for speaking to her in such a manner." The Radakeel glared at the man with ice cold countenance and the uncomfortable tension that had previously plagued their little group returned like a gust of sharp wind.

"In what manner?" Maeve cut in before anyone else could speak in her stead, annoyed by all their cautious behaviours. "It was just harmless flirting."

Leisa's gaze snapped to her, while Coop merely chuckled in shocked contentment, looking like the cat that ate the canary.

The other woman seemed to churn over a counter argument before finally lowering her gaze in deference. "Forgive me, I simply thought some more respect might be in order."

"I'll be the judge of that," Maeve replied, eying the Radakeel carefully for her next reaction, defiance or acceptance.

The woman gave a single nod, reluctant yet compliant, before extending her hand down to give her a small bundle tied with a tiny rope. "Here's your breakfast."

Maeve took the bundle, blinking in surprise. "Thank you."

Then the Radakeel wheeled on her feet, her mane of lava-red braids swirling in her wake as she moved amidst her companions to give a hand to Mark as he distributed spare weapons and bells to the never-ending queue of volunteers.

The heavy silence remained for a few more seconds, the tension still palpable in the air after the entire exchange, until Coop squashed it with annoyance.

"Wikken Hells, people, relax!" he exclaimed good-heartedly. "I meant no disrespect. I was just trying to lighten the mood. May I remind you we're about to spend a month in the Blind Mountains?"

"Yes, thank you for reminding us," Mark scowled grimly as he armed a volunteer with a pair of daggers.

"At least the first week shouldn't be too dangerous," Leo chipped in encouragingly. "Not until we venture deep enough into Skinwalker territory."

Mark merely grumbled at the young soldier's optimism, and then he, Leo and Leisa all went about their respective tasks of arming the volunteers with blades and bells, leaving Maeve to Coop's attention once more as he yet again discarded another empty crate and hesitantly took a seat beside her.

"Forgive me, My Lady," he apologized with an honest voice, his confident composure becoming slightly sheepish. "Perhaps my companions are right and I spoke too boldly. I did not mean to offend you."

"You did not offend me," Maeve assured him with a polite smile. "I don't know why everyone is making such a fuss about it."

"Well," he said, gazing at his companions. "My guess is they're worried I might disrupt proper decorum. I tend to do that a lot."

"Decorum?" she echoed. "Why would I need to be treated with a specific decorum? Because of my hair?"

Coop paused at her hint of challenge, as if daring him to slip up and reveal something he shouldn't, but the tanned-man simply smiled knowingly at her cunning attempt. "Because you're our guest," he replied smoothly. "And because you deserve the best hospitality we have to offer."

Maeve forced a fake smile at his lazy answer. "Of course."

Coop chuckled, probably sensing she wasn't buying his response. "You don't have to worry about anything," he assured her, honesty sinking back into his tone as a special glint lit up his dark black eyes. "As long as you're here in Kalladrell, you'll be treated like a Queen."

Then he stood up, tossing her his best smirk before joining his companions, his dark hair sweeping over his forehead roguishly.

Maeve narrowed her eyes at his comment, unable to decipher the hidden meaning in his words, and then Simon was by her side to apologize.

"I pray you excuse Coop's behaviour," he said, leaning a shoulder on a pile of crates and crossing his arms. "He can be a bit bold and outspoken sometimes."

"So I've noticed," she replied. "His choice of words certainly seemed to bother you more than it bothered me."

The blond captain gazed at her thoughtfully. "You don't care much for formalities, do you?"

"No, I don't."

"How would you like to be addressed, then? My Lady?" he offered, half serious and half in jest.

"By my name," she answered firmly, looking straight at him.

A small smile curved his lips and he nodded in defeat. "Fair enough."

He then motioned for a young soldier to come forward, the lad laying a backpack, two satchels full of fruits, a broadsword, a bow and a quiver down at her feet, which Maeve immediately recognized as her new belongings that everyone had gathered for her the night before.

"I'll let you eat and get ready," Simon said politely, turning on his heels to return to his work.

But Maeve quickly called after him, impulsive and bristling with curiosity, a burning question hanging on her lips. "So, what's so special about red hair around here?"

Simon stopped dead in his tracks, as if his feet were suddenly rooted to the ground. Reluctantly, he turned around to face her, looking profoundly cornered and uncomfortable, and Maeve almost regretted ambushing him with such a loaded question.

" _That's cheating_ ," a voice rang behind her as Robin appeared, rescuing his companion and scowling at her in admonishment.

"Good morning," she greeted him with her best innocent smile.

"Good morning," he replied gruffly, oblivious to her mellow tone as he rested a booted foot beside her on the crate and leaned towards her from behind with yet another scowl. "Didn't I tell you you'd get your answers when we reach Denwood?"

Her fake smile switched to a grimace. "You can't blame a girl for trying."

Robin tilted his head, still looking at her like a misbehaving child, his sharp blue eyes weighing heavily on her until she finally glanced back at Simon with an apologetic smile, the blond man fidgeting on his feet as he eyed them both wordlessly.

Half amused by her attempt to steal answers from his men, Robin tossed her a final warning look then stood up straighter to address his captain. "How are the preparations going?"

Simon cleared his throat and stood taller as well, regaining some kind of formality. "We've distributed the bells to the appointed soldiers and left a couple of spare ones in ten different sacks. All in all, every volunteer knows his place in the trek and what he is to carry. We're ready to leave whenever you are."

"Good, we should depart in half an hour," Robin informed his companion and the blond man quickly made himself scarce, heading back to do his duty and officially prepare soldiers and volunteers for the dreaded departure.

Tensed and somber, Robin turned to her then, glancing at the gear at her feet and the bundle of food in her hands. "You should eat before we leave," he suggested. "The next time will be in a couple of hours."

She nodded quietly, observing the anxious edge in his movements and the palpable tension that was radiating from his entire body, betraying the numerous concerns that must be colliding in his mind at the moment, a General on the brink of undertaking a dangerous trip with hundreds of lives under his care. A General, she also noted, who was humbly clothed like the soldiers under his command, a simple outfit of black trousers and a deep blue shirt, with a black leather plastron devoid of any extra flourish. The only indicators of his rank were the creases of apprehension on his face and the square set of his shoulders ready to tackle any danger that might threaten the safety of those under his protection.

The man she had conversed with last night by the firelight had been only human, a soldier afraid for his men and his people and rattled by self-doubt about his abilities to keep everyone safe. The man that stood before her now was made of stone and steel, a pillar of strength and security for everyone gathered in the courtyard, and promising to be formidably deadly in the battles to come.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked, the softness in his voice clashing with the rough edges of his countenance.

"Like a babe," she lied, concealing it behind a smile. "You?"

"Like a rock," he lied in return, she was sure of it, as his haunted blue eyes watched his men prepare for the wicked Blind Mountains. "I'll see you when we depart."

Then he walked away, sparing her the best comforting smile he could muster before her gaze followed his retreating form as he was swallowed into the crowd of people in the courtyard, the clanking of swords and the buzz of conversation muffling the sound of his boots on the pebbled ground.

With a heavy sigh, her eyes then landed on the pile of gear at her feet and the small bundle of food in her palm, courtesy of Leisa so she didn't starve before the trek. At the thought, she found herself searching for the woman's trademark mane of red braids and soon spotted her between Coop and Mark a few yards away, helping a fellow soldier strap his broadsword on his back.

The woman was a complete mystery, Maeve mused quietly, pondering on her new female companion. The Radakeel was so cold and serious all the time, like an impenetrable stone wall that could withstand any tempest, fierce and lethal and impassive, yet there was this...this...Maeve couldn't quite place her finger on it...There was a puzzling protectiveness emanating from the woman, like some sort of genuine caring devotion hidden beneath the rough exterior she projected, and she could sense deep down that the woman truly had a good heart despite her icy countenance.

What equally bothered and puzzled her though, was the way Leisa always seemed to be lurking somewhere around her like a cat, a second shadow cloaked in black leather, reminding her of a tigress watching over her cub, and Maeve couldn't help but recall what Robin had told her the day before, about Radakeels being exceptional warriors who pledged their life to protect the people they deemed worthy enough. Surely Maeve wasn't even close to being on Leisa's list of people to protect, but then again, as she glanced down at the little parcel of food in her hand, she couldn't help but wonder.

Deciding she should take Robin's advice and eat before they departed, Maeve opened the little bundle revealing a loaf of bread, a slice of cheese and a red apple. She wasn't particularly hungry but she nibbled at the food anyway since she most likely wouldn't get the chance to eat again in the next couple of hours.

Drifting away in her little bubble, she ate in silence and studied the people around her, sorting out the soldiers in their leather uniforms and matching blue shirts from the volunteers also sporting protective plastrons but wearing simple clothes beneath, a strategic purpose so the soldiers could easily spot each other amongst the crowd of people they were charged to protect.

As her eyes danced over the crowd, she noticed that the women taking part in the trek were all wearing practical outfits like her own, trading dresses for trousers so they could move their legs at will with no restraints. Coming in a variety of simple colors like brown, grey, forest green and burgundy, their shirts and jackets were beautifully adorned with little details and patterns unique to everyone, and Maeve was suddenly thankful to have an outfit of her own that fit in with all of them instead of her old foreign dress that would have awkwardly stood out. She also took pride in the fact that the deep blue color of her shirt was matching with the soldier's outfits, a color that was apparently absent in the other women's garments and the civilian's clothes. It made her feel like she belonged with the soldiers, charged with the same duty to defend and protect the people.

Then, as she chewed down a bite of apple, she slowly began to realize what was truly happening in front of her in the courtyard. People were gearing themselves up with weapons and provisions. _But they were also saying goodbye_.

All around, mothers were saying farewell to their sons, wives were kissing their husbands and holding them tight, sisters were embracing their brothers and wishing them luck, friends were hugging each other and clutching hands, some were crying, some were holding back tears.

The sad, tragic spectacle broke Maeve's heart, on the one hand because she truly felt for those brave people who were risking their lives to bring aid to those who needed it in Denwood, and on the other hand, because she had no one to say goodbye to, a realization that hurt as a good as a blade between her ribs.

_She was alone._

She had no one to hug, no one to hold, no one to kiss. The crew wasn't here. Dermott wasn't here. The spark of longing painfully twisted inside her chest like a knife, but she quickly shrugged it away as shame filled her blood, and she had to remind herself that as much as she had not willingly chosen to embark on such a perilous journey, all those people around her had voluntarily made that choice, to face the dangers of the Blind Mountains to help their kin on the other side, their courage ten times mightier than hers. It filled her with renewed determination, like wind blowing in the Nomad's sails and propelling her forward.

So she quickly toughened herself up and finished breakfast, then went about the task of gearing up to be ready on time for the departure. Using Sinbad's red bandana, she tied up her hair in a pony tail to keep stray strands away from her eyes and face, then she secured her new sword behind her back, carefully tying up the baldric over her shoulder and making sure she could easily reach the hilt above her head to rapidly unsheathe the blade if need be. When she was satisfied, she quickly checked the content of her backpack to verify if she wasn't missing anything before hoisting it up on her shoulders over her sword, adjusting the straps to the right length. She then slipped the two leather satchels of fruits over her head and let them rest against each of her hips. After that, she slid her quiver of arrows on her right shoulder and grabbed her bow.

She had just joined Simon, Leisa and the others when a clanking sound began to ring across the entire courtyard, growing louder and louder, echoing through the colonnade on either side like a gloomy song, the soldiers thumping their swords on crates and barrels to draw everyone's attention to the grand white marble stairs up front where Robin now stood, with Wizards George and Adam slightly off to the side behind him like guardian statues.

He was completely geared up as well now, his broadsword strapped to his back, twin daggers sheathed on his belt, a quiver and a bow over his shoulders. He looked every bit the General he was at that moment, commanding and inspiring and formidably lethal.

He waited for the clanking to stop, quietly assessing everyone in the courtyard with his raptor blue eyes before addressing the crowd somberly, his voice deep and resonant as it echoed in absolute silence. "Three weeks ago, the people of the village of Denwood were victims of the most savage, brutal, and merciless raid we could ever imagine, conducted by the Blood Raiders," he began, and by the grim faces around her Maeve could tell his words were bringing back nightmarish memories for everyone. "In the blink of an eye, like a bolt of lightning, these heartless animals swarmed on shore and destroyed everything from crops, wells and orchards to houses, cattle and grain, and killed nearly everyone from toddler to elder. They slaughtered every man, right after they raped their women and mutilated their children, and then, as fast as they came, these murderers fled back to Tyross, leaving behind them nothing but ashes and ruins, the ghost of a village once filled with life but now only inhabited by the few despairing souls who survived the nightmare." Maeve swallowed hard, the gory images flashing before her eyes in familiar recollection of the brutal invasion that had destroyed her life many years ago. She listened hard as Robin went on, an angry fire burning in his eyes. "When the Blood Raiders attacked our gates a few months ago, that nightmare was almost our fate but we were strong enough to repel them. The villagers of Denwood weren't. That's why they need our help." He paused, appraising the people in front of him, men and women, soldiers and volunteers alike. "Each and every one of you, with kindness, generosity and courage, has volunteered to bring aid to our brothers and sisters on the other side of the Blind Mountains. I won't lie to you by saying the trek will be easy. It won't. You all know the odds when it comes to crossing these woods. You all know what evil creatures await in the dark. Now is your final chance to change your mind. Because once we enter the forest there will be no turning back." He waited then, a dreadful silence settling heavily in the courtyard as he offered the people one last chance to turn around and leave, the loaded silence slicing through everyone's courage and determination.

But there was an iron resolve shining in the soldiers' gazes, a spark of tenacity that was as cold as ice and as hard as steel, an unwavering steadfastness that was matched by the volunteers as everyone proudly looked up to the man that would lead them through the Blind Mountains.

No one would turn back. No one would leave.

Assessing the crowd's final response to his last offer to back down and go home, Robin gave them a single nod, acknowledging their decision and their courage while also resigning himself to protect them all. "I promise you I will do everything I can, as well as all of my men, to ensure that we all make it safely to Denwood."

The crowd erupted once more with the solemn clanks of swords over barrels and crates, a gloomy song ringing in the morning air, and Robin marched down the stairs to join them, ready at last to depart for the long journey.

Mark handed him his backpack while Coop gave him two satchels of food to carry. He slipped them all onto his back and across his shoulders, then reminded them all of their respective positions in the trek. "Alright. Simon, you take the rear with Coop. Mark and Leo, you take the middle. Leisa, you're with me up front."

The men all acquiesced and dispersed into the crowd to reach their appointed post, all except Leisa who remained rooted by Maeve's side, refusing to move an inch as Robin walked past them to lead the way. "I'm with her."

Maeve blinked at the Radakeel's statement, ready to assure her she could very well manage on her own anywhere in the trek line but Robin replied before she could even speak. "She's with us," he rectified, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Let's go."

And then he was walking again, stern and serious, heading for the mouth of the portcullis to the left of the white marble stairs, and Maeve could only follow after him as Leisa flanked her resolutely.

She had not expected to be granted a place directly at the front of the trek line, yet she wasn't surprised either by the decision, highly suspecting it was connected to the underlying issue of her hair. Robin probably much preferred to have her right under his nose than lose her amidst the crowd like he had the previous day in the market square. Why, she still didn't have a clue, but so be it. If he was so hellbent on protecting her, then she would make sure to keep a raptor eye on him as well and return the favor.

As they strolled by the flight of stairs, Wizards George and Adam interrupted them with words of farewell, like two guardians attempting to bless their dire mission. "May the spirits be with you and your men, Robin," Wizard George said solemnly, while his companion leveled his cryptic gaze on her. "And may they watch over you closely, my dear."

Maeve was momentarily unsettled to be on the receiving end of those wishful words, and a simple nod was the only response she was able to muster in return to their kind departing smiles, a sense of déjà vu swelling in her heart as she remembered all too well the similar farewell she had exchanged with Dim-Dim the previous day before she was catapulted here into this strange kingdom.

But she quickly shrugged off the rising goosebumps on her flesh and followed Robin and Leisa out into the shadowed portcullis, the three hundred soldiers and volunteers in the courtyard marching behind them like an army of brave souls heading to their doom.


	20. The Blind Mountains

**Chapter 16 – The Blind Mountains**

The sun drummed down on her head as they marched over a vast expanse of green fields that spanned as far as the eyes could see on each side, separating the merry forest behind them from the looming darker woods approaching up front. It was as if the flat grassland was drawing a line between the two distinct forests, as if the normal trees had deliberately chosen not to sprout any further, for fear of mixing with the creepy-looking foliage of the Blind Mountains.

Squinting in the harsh sunlight, Maeve scanned the daunting dreadful woods, already sensing how uncanny and unnatural the place was. A disturbing chill crawled on her skin as the darkness ahead promised nothing less than a bunch of eerie life forms dwelling in the midst of dangerous forces. She didn't like it one bit but kept her mouth shut because there were children and toddlers right behind her, and she didn't want to risk scaring them anymore than they probably were.

The trip from Southampton all the way to the edge of the Blind Mountains had been a good hour long and by the time they reached the outer rim of the forest across the field, Robin called for a halt so people could rest and adjust their packs and gear. Now was the time to fix problems if there were any, because once they stepped into the woods, there would truly be no turning back.

People drank water and sat down in the grass to catch their breath, while others adjusted the straps of their backpack and redistributed the weights in their satchels for better comfort. At some point or another, everyone threw weary glances at the Blind Mountains looming before them, dreading the inevitable.

As Maeve sat with Leisa to give their legs and feet a rest, the Radakeel tried to teach her the names of as many soldiers as she could, as well as those of the civilians she knew. That way Maeve learned the name of the little boy and girl traveling right behind them, Rose and Sam, with their mother, Ally, who was the wife of the soldier trekking by their side, David. The four of them depicted the perfect family, if not for the shadows of death lurking a couple of yards before them.

After fifteen minutes, Maeve's head was swirling with faces and names, half of which she had already forgotten and she kicked herself for it, but then again she sadly figured it was probably better that way, because not knowing someone's name somehow made their death easier to cope with, as terrible as that was, and as she looked around at the people gathered in the field, there was no telling who would make it through the other side of the mountains, a horrible truth that was slowly coiling around her heart like a poisonous vine.

When Robin came back from his inspection down the line of soldiers and civilians, he called the trek into motion again and everyone got to their feet, hoisting packs on their backs and grabbing childrens' hands.

And then, the long journey truly began.

As soon as they stepped into the Blind Mountains, the warmth of the sun vanished like a candle abruptly snuffed out, trading its place with the damp, bone-chilling air of the shadowed foliage. It was striking how the sunlight barely reached the ground at all, the canopy of the tall trees so thick that nothing could shine through, making everything around them appear dead, slimy and rotten, like a canvas painted with ashes.

Trees curled and bent at weird angles like broken limbs, their branches slick with putrid mud and moss, and the ground was anything but straight and flat, the perfect path to get a broken neck. Indeed, the trail, if there was any, twisted and coiled unpredictedly like a drunken snake, sometimes on squishy muddy ground, sometimes in a labyrinth of big slimy roots or through a wide expanse of slippery rocks and boulders. Sometimes they had to climb their way up while on other occasions they had to trek down treacherous slopes. People slipped and tripped, others twisted their ankles or sprained their wrists. Children were carried in soldiers' arms to cross swamps, women were pulled up abrupt slants and bags were passed from hands to hands across complicated tangles of rotten trees.

A couple of hours in, Maeve could barely feel her feet anymore as they were drenched with mud, her toes cold and numb and her heels burning with blisters. The weight of the satchels of apples and pears dangling at her hips had grown a great deal heavier, the straps digging wedges in her shoulders and straining the back of her neck.

She didn't know how much distance they had covered so far but it couldn't be more than a few miles. The trail was so difficult to travel on that their pace was as slow as that of a party of slugs. Her forehead was beaded with sweat from the exertion, her body ached at every joint and her stomach was churning, but there was no way she would utter a word about it, not even to rant about the incessant buzz of flies and bugs whizzing around their heads relentlessly and driving everyone crazy.

She simply kept her mouth shut and followed Robin as he led the way in front of her, winding his way expertly through the roots and the rocks, clutching his hand for support when he offered it and grabbing at his shirt to steady him when he lost his balance on rare occasions. Leisa often helped her as well, hiking behind her like a watchful guardian ready to bolt at any threat, steadying Maeve when she would trip, cutting roots and creepers out of the way and warding off snakes and rats when they ventured too close.

Robin called for multiple brief halts so they could catch their breath and nibble at some food but it was only for a couple of minutes. Maeve could sense he wanted to press on and cover as much ground as possible before darkness fell upon them, and who knew how long setting camp would take.

To take her mind off her burning muscles as they climbed their way up a wall of mossy rocks entwined with tangles of dead roots, against her better judgment, Maeve allowed her mind to wander to the crew, wondering if they were having a better time than she was at the moment, which, unless they weren't in the middle of a life-threatening adventure, wasn't hard to imagine at all. They were probably sitting in a tavern and drinking ale or maybe sailing swiftly under a sky full of glittering stars or perhaps sun-bathing on a white-sanded beach, and Sinbad could very well be kissing another woman and-

That brief wicked thought was enough to distract her as her fingers reached for the root above her head, the dry wood snapping like a twig. She stifled a scream, awaiting the hard fall but Robin swiftly reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her weight up and steadying her at once before she could tumble on Leisa right beneath her, her hands clawing for solid rocks.

Catching her breath, she cursed herself for letting her thoughts distract her like this. The Blind Mountains definitely weren't a place where she could let her mind wander, especially not on _him_ , unless she wanted to pay the ultimate price with her life. _Wouldn't that be something_ , she thought sullenly, _to fall and break her neck before even facing off against the Skinwalkers or the Kawasseas..._

Nevertheless, she couldn't deny how much she wished to be with the crew right now, away from the debilitating shadows of the dreadful woods and all the eerie creatures waiting around every corner to grab and pull their victims into the darkness. More than once she had stared back into pairs of glowing eyes hiding in bushes or under the troubled waters of the swamps, but Leisa had probed her onward every time, warning her it was best not to disturb what dwelled in the woods lest it snapped at them and took off with their hands or their whole arms.

Growing hypervigilant with every hour that passed by, her nerves were growing as exhausted as her muscles, raw and bruised by sustained efforts, not to mention how maddening it was to lose track of time in the rotten ashes of such a landscape. As it was, the shadows of the Blind Mountains always looked the same, a deadly grey as lifeless as old crooked graves, with no sunlight ever reaching the ground, thus she had no idea what time of the day it was anymore and she doubted anybody else knew it either. Except Robin, which is why she reckoned that dusk was finally upon them when he stopped the trek on a rather large, flat expanse of ground near the outline of a deep slope. Trees, roots and stones were still littering the rotten earth everywhere, but at least they wouldn't be sleeping in the middle of rocky slants or muddy swamps.

Soldiers and volunteers, women and children alike all gathered around, each person looking more battered, gritty and dirty than the other as they dropped their packs down at their feet with weary sighs, their faces twisting in pain as their shoulders were freed from their heavy loads.

Maeve did the same and dropped her packs down on the ground, closing her eyes with a wince as her entire body reveled in the bliss of lightness. Every single one of her limbs was completely worn out; her neck ached, her shoulders burned, her hips were rusted, her knees were buckling and her feet were swollen.

And this was only day one.

She slumped down on a rock and rummaged through her backpack for water, grimacing at the sight of her hands stained with mud. As she drank from her gourd, Leisa heavily sat down next to her, her blood-red braids the only vibrant color to gaze upon in the shadowed dullness of the woods. Her face was covered in sweat and dirt but remained emotionless as usual, showing no sign of pain or weariness at all, which was equally impressing and frustrating, as if the Radakeel was immune to any kind of physical exersion and could endure anything thrown her way, her hide as thick as iron. But perhaps that would change in the upcoming four weeks.

As people began to settle, unfurling bedrolls and passing out food, Maeve watched as Robin dropped his gear and packs a few feet away, his movements slow and heavy, with a faint grunt of pain escaping his lips as he strectched his back and rolled his shoulders. He looked positively drained, his features crisp and serious and painted with dry mud in some places, but when he looked down at her he forced a reassuring smile, as if he could see the flicker of concern in her eyes.

She stretched out her arm and handed him an apple from her satchel just when Leo, Coop, Mark and Simon joined them in a small commotion.

"I told you, you should have bought a new pair!" Mark roared as Coop hopped on one foot behind him, trying to keep up as he held his left boot in his hand.

"They were perfectly fine this morning!" he objected.

"They were completely threadbare from the last trek!" Mark roared again as he dropped his heavy packs on the ground.

Robin turned to his friends with a tired frown. "What's the problem?"

"Coop had a pebble the size of a grain of sand in his boot," Leo mocked as he kneeled down to retrieve bread and cheese from one of his packs.

Coop slumped down on a rock, propping his bootless foot on his knee to inspect his sole. "It was at least the size of a fist! The bloody thing gave me a huge blister!"

"Oh come on, it can't be that bad," Leo replied as he handed out food all around.

"It's my foot, I'll tell you how bad it is!" Coop grumbled with an annoyed frown.

"How did a rock that big get inside your boot?" Leisa asked before taking a bite of cheese.

"He stepped on a thorn," Mark explained grumpily, "which wound its way through the sole as easily as a knife slices up butter because it was completely worn-out." He threw Coop a look to make his point.

"Was not!"

"Was too! I told you to buy a new pair but you didn't listen to me!"

"Enough," Robin silenced them sharply. "Bring him to Lobelia to have his foot wrapped up. No matter how big the blister is, we can't let it get infected and cause a limp. We still have a month of trekking to do. Simon," he turned to the blond captain.

"Yes?"

"Tell the people to light as few fires as possible and to keep low," Robin instructed with a careful edge in his voice. "We don't want to attract attention."

Simon nodded and walked away, leaving the rest of their little weary party to nibble at bread and cheese and a few nuts around the poor imitation of a camp fire while Leo informed Robin of the minor problems they had encountered during the last trekking hours. A man had broken a toe tripping on a rock and a woman had slashed her shoulder slipping down a slimy slant. Both the civilians were fine for the time being, the old healer Lobelia taking care of them and soothing their pain with herbal ointments and concoctions.

The rest of the evening was spent tending to minor wounds, especially blisters, thorns and cuts, as well as filling up the water supplies in a nearby stream and boiling the water so it could be drinkable. Night shifts were also divided amongst the soldiers at six different spots in the camp site, and set up to change every three hours so they could all get a minimum of sleep.

Relieved not to be on watch, and suspecting Robin had deliberately omitted to include her in the soldiers' rounds, Maeve wrapped bandages around her palms where her skin was raw from all the rock climbing they had done, and she covered her blistered heels with patches of clothe to prevent further rubbing.

It felt as if they'd been travelling in the Blind Mountains for weeks already and she could hardly believe it. To think every day from now on was going to be as draining and taxing was inconceivable. She was tough and resilient in many ways but she was seriously beginning to wonder if the year she had spent onboard the Nomad had prepared her for this. She was a sailor, not a bloody mountain climber.

As darkness and silence fell in the midst of the convoy, a few fires softly glimmering in the sinister, creepy woods, Maeve watched tiredly as the others disappeared in their bedrolls for the night, Leisa making sure to settle down not more than five feet away from her, her Sleyans carefully tucked in place and ready to be unsheathed if need be.

She was slowly dosing off, her limbs screaming and begging for rest and sleep, when she heard Robin light a torch from their poor campfire, his cautious steps steering him away to gaze into the darkness down the steep slope alongside which the entire party was camped, his vigilant blue eyes scanning every shadow like a hawk.

With a wince, she pulled herself up to her beaten feet—she couldn't believe Robin was still up and walking—and she quietly made her way to his side, as if pulled by an invisible string and by the urge to loosen the shackles of duty he was locking himself into.

"Apprehension is a nasty little thing," she said softly not to startle him. "It will do you no good to worry about what will come to pass when we enter the Skinwalkers' territory. Right now, all these people are safe and that's all that matters."

"If I let my guard down, we're all as good as dead," he replied, his voice betraying the depth of his exhaustion, but the General inside him refusing to let him rest.

"But we're not deep enough into the woods yet, you said it yourself. We still have a good week of trekking before the real danger begins," Maeve tried once again to ease his concerns as the flame of the torch danced on his crisped features.

Robin brought his eyes to her, a painful darkness suddenly shining in them as he lowered his voice gravely. "More than half of these people are going to die during the next four weeks and I can do nothing about it."

Maeve's heart nearly broke at his silent distress, and she lifted a hand to his arm to turn him around in the darkness, forcing him to face her. "They knew what they were getting themselves into," she said firmly, hoping to break through his thick shell of worries. "We all chose to make this journey; we all knew the risks."

But he shook his head at her words, stubbornly refusing to believe her, his heavy gaze returning to scan the shadows where the demons of his potential failures were lurking. "Are you even afraid at all?"

Maeve lowered her gaze to her feet, well aware of the simmering fear pumping stronger in her blood with every step she took in these hellish woods, even if it was irrelevant at the moment. "What does it matter if I am?" she mused, glancing at the darkness below them, her mind latching on to the mission Dim-Dim had entrusted her with. "I need to get to Denwood. Maybe I will, maybe I won't. But I'm here like everyone else because I chose to be."

She spoke as confidently as she could, steady and calm, but in the darkness she felt the weight of Robin's gaze settle on her, watching as her hands toyed with the bandages around her palms, hiding the cuts and bruises in her flesh.

"I don't think you made that choice willingly," he said softly, cutting right through her shield to expose what lay beneath. "I think you'd rather be a thousand miles away from here if you could."

She swallowed hard, anchoring herself down before her thoughts could flitter away to the white sails of a ship on the high seas. "The Gods don't seem to care much about what I want," she commented sadly, her mind momentarily dancing with the snarling ghosts from her past, but she caught herself on time. "Get some sleep, General," she admonished him, then walked away before he could dig deeper into the meaning of her words, returning to her bedroll to follow her own advice before another gruesome day began tomorrow.

A few minutes later, she heard Robin return to the campfire and finally surrendered to sleep.


	21. The Captain, perhaps?

[](https://imgur.com/lOCnJeu)

**Chapter 17 – The Captain, perhaps?**

The next morning when Leisa shook her shoulder to wake her up, Maeve felt like a horde of elephants had trampled her during the night. Every muscle in her body felt like it had been torn like an old rag and stretched into hard knots, silently protesting against another tough day of trekking through the cursed woods of the Blind Mountains.

"Rise and shine," she heard the Radakeel calling. "We leave in twenty minutes."

Snuggled up in her bedroll for warmth, Maeve sat up reluctantly, wincing against the pain in her back, stiff as a wooden board. Rubbing sleep out of her eyes, she saw her weary expression mirrored in the sleepy faces of all the soldiers and civilians around her, everyone moving in careful slow motion to eat breakfast and gather their packs and their weapons with grunts of physical discomfort.

"Mighty Thorren, kill me now," Coop groaned in protest on the ground as Mark nudged him with his boot to wake him up.

"Careful what you wish for," Leo warned him as he stuffed his bedroll into his pack and eyed the forest vigilantly. "Your wish might come true any moment in these woods."

Maeve glanced around at the uninviting creepy trees and shabby brambles, the darkness of the night shifting to the usual dimness of the forest, a graveyard painted in grey, which only served to cast shivers down her spine.

After a few moments to gather enough strength and willpower, she finally stood up and went about the task of packing up her things. Robin handed her a big orange and a few nuts to eat and she nibbled at them while securing her sword on her back and the satchels of fruits at her sides. Her shoulders screamed when the straps dug in her skin heavily but she had no choice but to ignore their complaints.

Then, sooner than she would have wished, after Simon and Coop trotted back to the rear of the convoy and Mark and Leo weaved their way back to the middle, they were on the move again, like a string of ants traveling one behind the other.

Unsurprisingly, it barely took less than an hour for the cuts on her palms to reopen and her neck to officially get a painful strain, yet she could still count herself amongst the lucky unscathed as opposed to all the people who fell victim to the endless series of mishaps that happened every hour in these wicked woods, like a fortress of trees littered with booby traps fashioned by evil spirits.

The injuries just kept coming like rain; a woman twisting her knee on a slippery rock, an elder man slashing his forehead on a low branch requiring stitches, a young soldier tumbling down a slant and needing to be pulled back up with a rope, a toddler stung in the eye by a bug, and many more cuts and bruises to count, not to mention that those had all happened in the first third of the convoy, not accounting for all the mishaps that had befallen the rest of it further down the trek line.

It just seemed poor old Lobelia, their current healer, was simply overwhelmed with patients to tend to and it could easily be blamed on people's soreness and lack of vigilance after a restless night, which only meant everything would simply get worse as the days trickled by. Fortunately for the old woman, she could also count on Leisa's aid for pain management, the Radakeel's Sleyans possessing the strange property to remove and ease pain depending on the type of wounds as well as providing some degree of healing, instead of inflicting the formidable agony Maeve had already gotten a taste of. It was a strange mix in a weapon, the twin capacity to hurt and to heal, and she was sure Firouz would be absolutely fascinated by it, showering the warrior with questions to solve its mysteries.

But Maeve chased those thoughts away for the time being, focusing instead on her steps as she carefully followed after Robin, although at the moment she couldn't actually see his feet as they were all trudging waist deep in the slimy black waters of a narrow swamp, cold and sticky, with everyone forced to lift up the packs and satchels they were carrying to prevent the food from dipping into the disturbing mixture of moss, worms and weird-looking plants.

With strands of stray hair falling in her face, she could feel her boots unpleasantly digging in the mud at the bottom of the swamp, with the constant, silent fear in her limbs that she might step on a slimy creature at any moment, so it was no surprise she nearly jumped out of her skin when Leisa's hand whipped the air an inch from her face to ward off a spider the size of her fist.

"I hate spiders," the Radakeel muttered under her breath with a grimace of disdain.

"Who doesn't?" Maeve commented mildly, quickly returning her concentration to her invisible footsteps under the black waters.

"How much longer do we have to plod in this filth?" Leisa asked Robin annoyingly.

But as a reply, Robin stopped dead in his track, his entire body going rigid.

Maeve froze.

The whole convoy behind them came to a halt, people craning their necks to see why they were stopping as a dreadful silence quickly settled all around them like a cloak.

"What is it?" Leisa asked grimly, growing still as a statue as well.

"Don't move," Robin said lowly, his hand slowly going to his waist to unsheathe a dagger on his belt.

Maeve held her breath and scanned the slimy waters, her nerves twitching with dread. She had no idea what had made Robin stop so suddenly but she could tell by his tensed posture that it was nothing good.

The yelp of a woman further down the trek line made them all flinch. "There's something in the water!"

Robin's strong hand immediately clenched around Maeve's arm while Leisa's Sleyans flicked in her hands like lightning, the weapons buzzing in the air with lethal power.

People began to scream in panic, trudging and twisting in the black waters to escape whatever creature was lurking at their feet while soldiers unsheathed their swords and slashed through the filthy swamp.

Maeve tried to remain as still as possible, her heart racing in her chest as her entire body steeled itself for imminent danger.

"Stop moving!" Robin's commanding voice rose above the commotion, loud and strong.

As people muted their screams and calmed down a little while mothers tried to soothe their frightened children, Robin held his breath and his raptor eyes skimmed through the flapping waters, his grip on Maeve's arm unyielding like an iron shackle.

Sandwiched between him and Leisa's protective stances, Maeve surveyed the dirty swamp too, searching for any odd movements or ripples on the surface. She wanted to reach for the daggers lodged in her boots but she feared to move an inch lest she provoked whatever monster they had disturbed.

A scream slashed through the air again.

In the blink of an eye, the woman behind them was pulled under the water with her little boy, the two of them vanishing below the surface with a splash.

"Ally!" David the soldier shouted in wild terror. "Sam!"

Leisa deftly stepped back from the dangerous spot and swiftly pushed Maeve behind her while Robin yanked her back as well by the arm, the two of them shielding her from the invisible threat. Their protectiveness baffled her but she quickly shrugged them off and reached for her daggers, her heart hammering against her ribcage like a war drum.

Frantic, the terrified soldier, David, gave his crying daughter to a woman behind him and began to search the opaque waters for his wife and son, plodding everywhere around him and calling out their names like a mad man. A second later the soldier behind him disappeared in the swamp in a splash of water, stirring up a bigger commotion amongst the volunteers and civilians who jumped back and screamed in fright.

"Stop moving!" Robin shouted again over the rising panic but it was no good as more and more people were pulled under the black waters further down the trek line, like weeds plucked by an invisible hand.

"What's going on! What is that thing!" Maeve asked over the screams but her questions went unanswered in the rising chaos.

"Robin," Leisa said gravely, as if to get his approval.

"No," Robin quickly protested. "You'd be touching everybody and half of them cannot swim."

"Half of them are already drowning, General," Leisa insisted. "If I don't do it, we'll all be pulled under."

Robin locked eyes with the Radakeel for brief quiet seconds while Maeve stood still as a rock, wondering just what on earth they were talking about.

"Do it," he finally said with a grim nod before securely grabbing Maeve's arm again while his free hand reached for the coiling branches of the twisted tree next to them. "Hang on as tightly as you can," he warned her.

"Wha-" As he held her arm in a death grip, Maeve choked on her question when she saw Leisa plunge her Sleyans in the opaque waters, the buzz of magic ringing in her ears.

Instantly, a terrible pain arced up her legs all the way up to her waist, making her knees buckle. A scream caught in her throat but the infernal sensation killed it off and all she could do was grit her teeth and claw at the branches for support.

Amidst the chaos of miserable cries and groans of pain all the way down the trek line as people suffered the merciless touch of Leisa's Sleyans, some dashed for nearby branches and rocks while others slumped powerlessly into the water. Maeve could feel Robin shaking against her, battling the agonizing pain while the muscles in his arms flexed and burned.

At last, after endless seconds, the unbearable pain finally subsided as Leisa removed her lethal weapons from the swamp and everything suddenly turned eerily calm, the swamp gently flapping on the muddy banks on each side as everyone down the trek line recoiled from the abrupt surge of pain, looking like they had unexpectedly been hit by lightening.

Robin abandoned his grip on the twisted branches, his chest heaving as he painfully caught his breath. Next to him, Maeve panted and struggled to stand on her legs, her knees feeling like they had been bent in the wrong direction.

Standing tall and unaffected in the middle of the swamp, Leisa put on a satisfied smug. "That wasn't so bad, now was it?" she asked with a smirk.

Robin didn't return her smile, wincing as he stretched his back straighter. "Are you alright?" he asked Maeve concernedly.

"I'm fine," she replied, unable to resist throwing a glare in Leisa's direction. "What was that thing?" she asked no one in particular while her heart gradually stopped trashing.

Robin adjusted the straps of his pack and opened his mouth to speak but then, in a fuzzy splash of water, Ally and her son Sam emerged from the surface, coughing like crazy to get air back into their lungs as they splattered to get their balance. With a wild yelp of joy, David immediately dashed for them even if he could still barely breathe properly, gathering his wife and his little boy in his arms, smiling and crying at the same time with overwhelming relief.

Exclamations soon spread all around as other missing soldiers splashed out of the water like flames spurting to life, earning smiles and hugs from their comrades who helped them to their feet with joyful cheers.

"Do you think you killed it?" Robin asked Leisa under his breath and Maeve realized she still didn't know what the creature was.

Her answer came as fast as the crack of a whip slicing the air.

In the blink of an eye, a white enormous snake-like creature with clawed paws and a crown of spikes bolted out of the water with a screeching clicking sound and dove straight at Robin, coiling around him and swallowing him beneath the water.

"Robin!" Maeve's blood spiked with fear before she even really knew what was happening.

In a flash, Leisa dashed in front of her to shield her, Sleyans at the ready as her cat eyes desperately scanned the flapping waters. The people behind them gasped at the unexpected attack and worried whispers quickly spread down the trek line, everyone going wide-eyed and holding their breath.

Maeve's mind reeled, horrified, as she watched the surface of the black swamp take on a reddish tint.

"Leisa! Your Sleyans! Now!" she shouted, blind terror crawling in her veins like liquid fire with every second that passed by.

Without hesitation, the Radakeel flicked the weapons in her hands but right before their black deadly tips touched the water, Robin splashed to the surface a couple of feet further away.

"Robin!" Maeve shouted again, her bones thrumming with fear while she plodded through the swamp to reach him.

As he spit out water and attempted to stand up in the slimy waters, she grabbed him by the collar and pulled him up, steadying him on his feet while her hands patrolled his face and shoulders and arms, checking him all over for a bleeding wound as he caught his breath.

"Are you alright?" she asked worriedly, her pulse still pumping in her neck like a storm.

As he properly regained his balance, Robin wiped water out of his eyes and nodded reassuringly. "Never better," he gave her a small smile, his blue eyes meeting hers for an arresting moment as he seemed to notice her apparent worry for him.

She caught herself then, as if tripping on a nasty trap, and quickly released him. She took a step back to give him some space and felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment at her open display of concern for his safety, betraying how fond she had grown of him in the span of merely two days despite her better judgment.

Luckily for them both, Leisa sliced through their tensed bubble as she prodded the dead body of the white snake with a twisted branch, its pale scales glistening with slime. "Can't say as much for this fellow," she pointed out with a satisfied smirk.

"That's a Borg," Robin explained as he sheathed his dagger back on his waist belt. "In all my crossings I've only seen two of them and they were always on dry land, never under water."

"Wonderful," Leisa said, grimacing at the dead creature. "Another good reason to get out of this filthy pond. Shall we?"

After straightening themselves up and quickly checking on the rest of the convoy for wounded civilians or missing soldiers, they resumed their march up the swamp, picking up the pace as everyone was pretty eager to travel on solid ground again.

But it was still another string of long hours of harsh trekking. Maeve's feet and ankles ached like rusty joints and as her clothes dried from the slimy waters of the swamp, the chill of the Bind Mountains bit into her bones like poisoned fangs. And she was covered in mud again, like a drowned rat in a filthy alley. In fact, they all looked like rats, a queue of trembling animals silently begging for food and rest.

When dusk was almost upon them, it felt like a blessing from the good spirits. Robin motioned the trek into a halt at the base of a scruffy-looking rocky cliff, its high walls searing high up with the canopy of trees, the perfect place to make camp for the night, with only one side to defend against potential assaults.

Leisa approved of the location and chose them a spot to camp slightly higher above ground, where they would be able to have a global view of their entire camp site.

Maeve dropped her things next to the Radakeel's, because she knew the black-leathered woman would want to sleep next to her anyway, a second shadow always watching over her.

When they were done eating supper and cleaning themselves up with a nearby brook, and after Robin finished the tale of the Borg to Simon and Coop who, at the rear, had had absolutely no idea what was going on up front and could only guess what the screams reaching their ears and the sudden pain in their legs were all about, everybody called it a night and disappeared in their bedrolls, more exhausted than the previous day and most likely less than the upcoming one.

Alone by their little camp fire, Maeve changed the bandages around her hands again, old and new cuts and bruises half opened and itching uncomfortably. She also tried to massage her neck but in vain, the simple task of rolling her shoulders and bending her arms too painful to endure.

Instead, staring at the dancing flames with drooping eyelids, weary and drained, she lost herself in thoughts, her mind inevitably heading to the place she had come to call home, a ship with white sails on the high seas, with its brave and noble crew going about their tasks on the main deck, her brother perched high on the main mast with his feathers ruffled by the ocean wind, and the captain standing tall at the tiller, a watchful guardian keeping a weather eye on the horizon, perhaps searching for her…or perhaps otherwise engaged in kissing some random nymphet fawning over him after one of his heroic deeds…

Maeve kicked herself as soon the intrusive thought crawled into her mind, like a nasty thorn digging into her flesh.

It was a bitter picture to conjure, but whereas deep longing usually coiled itself around her aching heart when she thought about him, ever since she'd watched him kiss that paled-skin woman the other night, now there was anger as well, foul and wicked and nibbling at her nerves. Anger, jealousy, possessiveness, all those feelings were blending together, threatening to swallow her whole like a formidable beast if she wasn't careful enough. But she was too exhausted to keep them in check right now in the shadows of the woods.

Biting her lips and fighting against the curiosity burning in her blood, she knew she would regret her next move, but she slipped one of her daggers out of her boot anyway.

_Just a glimpse_ , she thought, trying to convince herself that it couldn't possibly hurt to get one small peek just to check if the crew was alright.

Staring at the reflective surface of the blade in the firelight, quickly checking if everyone was asleep around her, Maeve let the magic flow through her fingers and into the blade.

In the darkness, it flickered with soft light and an image slowly materialized, at the center of which shone a little dot of rainbow colors. As the picture became clearer, she realized it was Sinbad's rainbow bracelet, glowing brightly with its mysterious array of magical colors.

But that was not what caused her heart to flip in her chest.

Standing in front of a wall where an old lady seemed to be trapped, her entire body literally encased in the stone as if she'd been molded there by clay, Sinbad was clasping Bryn's hand in his, both their bracelets shining together as one, their magical connection blazing like a bonfire and glaring right back at her like a cruel trick.

It felt like a slap in the face. A painful blow to her pride.

Shutting her eyes closed immediately as if burned by what she had seen, hoping to wipe the image from her mind entirely, Maeve lowered the blade abruptly and gritted her teeth against the swell of emotions inside her chest, pressing her lips together firmly as she remembered that the magic worked by showing the beholder either what he _wanted_ , _needed_ or _feared_ to see, the latter option seeming to exclude all the others in her case.

Controlling her breathing in the dark, she was tempted to raise the blade up again to steal another quick glance but instead she slammed it in the ground next to her, plunging the dagger in the dirt as the black taste of anger rose in her mouth.

Quietly fuming, she pulled at the hem of her small blanket to better secure it around her shoulders, then crossed her arms over her chest for more warmth and proceeded to glare at the flames in front of her, trying to convince herself that what she was seeing was too easy to misinterpret and that such magic was dangerous precisely because of that, as Dim-Dim had carefully warned her.

But it was no use. Misinterpretation or not, watching over the crew and over _him_ seemed to bring her nothing but blistering frustration and crushing sadness. She had to stop.

"Who is he?"

Robin's voice nearly made her jump out of her skin as he sat down in front of her across the fire and placed a new log into the flames.

Except for the pops and hisses of the wood licked by the heat, the silence of the Blind Mountains suddenly felt like a tight cloak, heavy and suffocating as she stared at him, her pulse rising in her throat.

"What?" she asked, snapping at him despite her best effort to remain unfazed. "Who?"

Had he been spying on her? Had he seen what she had seen reflected in the blade of her dagger? No, he couldn't have. She would have heard him come from behind her if that were the case.

He watched her across the campfire, an imperceptible smile tugging at his lips before he gazed down at the flames, poking at the embers with a stick. "There's a man in your eyes."

Maeve froze, her hackles rising at his intrusive comment, her blood abruptly turning to liquid heat. "Excuse me?"

Robin continued to look at the fire, lights and shadows dancing across his face in the darkness and carving his features into soft angles. "Is he one of the sailors you travelled with?" he asked conversationally, honest curiosity lacing through his voice. "The captain, perhaps?"

At that, she shot him a glare across the flames, her temper flaring up like a dangerous spark, and she met his raptor eyes in a wordless confrontation of truth and denial. There was something shining in the depth of this gaze, something she couldn't quite name, but nevertheless he was venturing in a perilous territory, one into which she refused to follow him. " _There's no one_."

She lied. A blatant lie, foul and sipping into her bones like a blight. And he knew it.

He held the weight of her gaze, measuring her answer like the obvious falsehood it was, but he said nothing. Instead, a flicker of sympathy surfed on his shadowed features, some kind of deep sadness laced with a trace of judgment, and she suddenly felt uncomfortably exposed.

He knew where she came from, knew that her previous residence had been on a ship with a crew of sailors, men of the sea who did not have the best of reputations when it came to matters of the heart. Was he feeling sorry for her? For falling for a sailor who could never settle down?

But he didn't know the real truth. He didn't know the sailors she used to travel with were the legendary crew of the Nomad, far from ordinary men. He didn't know her captain was none other than Sinbad the Sailor.

But she would not tell him that, no matter how many flickers of concern dwelled in his eyes.

After a long, wordless moment, he finally offered her a small smile. "I'm sure your friends miss you just as much as you miss them."

His voice was strangely comforting, gruff and warm in the darkness of the night, like a small balm on her scathed nerves after what she had seen in the reflection of her dagger, but not quite so soothing after his intruding inquiries about what lay in her heart.

She watched him across the flames, studying the shadows of his gaze, and was momentarily rattled by what she found buried there. His concern for her was nothing new, nor was his protectiveness, but now there was the unmistakable glint of longing…envy…or was it jealousy?

The sight of it, shining softly in his caring blue eyes like tormented ghosts, was so unsettling she had to avert her gaze away, returning it to the flames between them.

He looked away as well, as if she had wordlessly exposed him in return, and a few seconds later she was standing, unable to bear the uneasy tension between them anymore.

"Good night, General," she said, addressing him formally, as if to remind them both where they stood in this trek, then walked away to her spot next to Leisa to settle in for the night.

"Good night," she heard him reply in the dark, words barely above a whisper.


	22. A Favor

[](https://imgur.com/hqpOWEk)

**Chapter 18 – A Favor**

He heard her footsteps edging closer behind him as soon as Timur walked away, and when he turned to look at her, a troubled look was casting shadows in her eyes.

"What is it?" Sinbad asked her concernedly as she watched the young man's retreating form.

"Something about his burden feels painfully familiar," Bryn said, sorrow lodging itself in her voice.

He was momentarily saddened by her words, knowing just how hard and terrible it must be for her to carry the burden of empty memories she couldn't remember. "Life is a mystery," he offered, trying to cheer her up as he looked up to the skies to see Dermott soaring towards them and landing swiftly on her outstretched arm. "Yours is more of a mystery than most."

When Bryn returned his smile, he was glad to see a little bit of the light back in her eyes, like a small flame timidly spurting to life in the dark.

Mysteries, secrets, questions with no answers…He felt as if his entire life had been flooded with all those things in the last two months, with water rising up to his neck, threatening to drown him. He had survived more storms than he could count, the last one being the most formidable of all, but nothing could compare with the agony of being lost in the dark as he was. Ever since she had left. Ever since Dim-Dim had ripped her away from him for reasons that made less and less sense to him with each passing day. And it was time he went fishing for some answers.

Leaving Bryn with Dermott, he headed back to the table where the crew was seated and enjoying some well-deserved ale after everything that had happened in the last harrowing days. Firouz, Rongar and Doubar raised their mugs as he walked past, inviting him to join them, but he declined their offer with a shake of his head. If there hadn't been so many issues colliding in his mind at the moment, a black morass of questions and mysteries that he wanted to shed some light on, he would have gladly sat with them but instead he went for Methana, who was currently conversing with his friend Nurudin.

"Methana?" he touched her shoulder gently to draw her attention. "May I have a word?"

The aged sorceress looked up to him with a smile, a flicker of unsettling knowledge passing on her face as she seemed to see right through him. "Of course," she said warmly, standing up and excusing herself to Nurudin, who politely dipped his head. "Come with me."

She motioned for him to follow her and he walked in her steps right away, doing his best to ignore the quizzical glances the crew was tossing their way.

He knew what he must look like to them, tensed and troubled like when he somberly watched the starry horizon on the Nomad at night, alone and brooding at the tiller with all his inner demons shifting in his gaze. Those demons had been gradually coming forth as the day had worn away, lending a raw edge to his composure, his temper quicker to flare and ready to latch onto any excuse for a fight, to release the building anger inside him.

That was what they saw as he left with Methana, that aching part of him that Maeve's absence had unleashed; the ugly side of him, reckless and violent and profoundly wounded. It was a subtle shift in his countenance, but his crewmates knew him well enough to see it.

But he ignored their concerned looks and left with the sorceress until they disappeared around the street's corner.

He followed the woman silently, past the buzzing activity of the market square until a few minutes later she pushed open the door of her small yet comfortable house, inviting him in.

He stepped into the familiar dimness of the place that smelled of herbs and spices and the sorceress closed the door behind her. She then went to the fireplace to rekindle the embers in the hearth, soon stirring them back into flames.

It was strange being alone with her, this powerful sorceress he barely knew, and the silence in the room nibbled at his nerves with every second that passed by, putting him on edge.

"I must thank you again for saving my son," she finally spoke, emotional and grateful as she hung a kettle above the fire to make tea. "I know very few people who would have risked their lives like that, going to hell and back to save a man's soul. Thank you."

Sinbad shook his head to discard her words. "No need to thank us again. Timur is safe now, free of his father's torment. That's all that matters."

Methana looked at him silently, then pulled a wooden chair closer to the one already facing the hearth. "I sense you have a lot of questions," she said knowingly, with that cryptic tone only magic practitioners knew how to use. "Please, sit. I may not have all the answers you seek but I will do my best."

With his mind quietly reeling like an approaching storm, Sinbad took the chair in front of her and sat down, leaning forward with his arms resting on his knees. He cast a long look at the small flames flickering in the hearth, drawing strength from their comforting warmth and yet torn apart with longing at the mere sight of them.

He had so many questions to ask, he didn't even know where to start. There was one thing he was dying to know above everything else, but he forced himself to begin with simple questions. "Before you sent us to Hades, you said Dim-Dim's magic would protect us," he finally said, bringing his eyes back to Methana. "You know Master Dim-Dim?"

The sorceress almost chuckled. "A wizard as powerful and famous as Dim-Dim, who doesn't know him?" she said, glancing at the fire as if recalling distant memories. "We met briefly many years ago when he travelled in our region. He was on a very urgent quest at the time and Timur was just a toddler. We were too poor to afford a home so we were living in a rented room at the inn, until that day in the market place where this man in white robes walked straight up to me, called me by my name before I ever gave it to him, and then brought me here, in this house."

She looked around her home lovingly, taking it all in; the colorful hangings on the walls, the dried herbs and flowers hooked everywhere, the books on their shelves, the sunlight filtering through the open shutters. "He sat me down and said he knew of my peculiar magical heritage, both black and white magic, and that I was therefore the perfect candidate for the job he had to offer," she explained quietly with a hint of mystery in her voice, which perfectly matched the beautiful yet unusual netted shroud that covered her head and hair. "He told me the house was mine if I agreed to watch over the nexus it sat on, a breach in the veil between the world of the living and the world of the dead."

At her words, Sinbad glanced down at the round carpet on the floor a few feet away from them, the place where the portal to Hades had opened earlier today.

"Yes, the breach is right there," Methana said, reading his mind, "and I have been guarding it for the past twenty-three years. That is how I was able to send you to the Wikken Hells to save my son. My dark powers can control the nexus. I could unleash hell upon earth if I wanted to."

She stood up then, retrieving the kettle above the flames to pour tea into mugs. Her netted veil was casting shadows over her face as she moved, lending her a haunted look and softly carving her features with angles of regret and shame.

"But Dim-Dim assigned you to protect it because he believed in the goodness of your heart. He knew your white magic would be stronger than the legacy of your dark powers," Sinbad rephrased her words, trying to offer what little comfort he could to this woman he barely knew.

"I suppose so," she sighed, handing him a warm mug of tea before sitting back down with a shrug. "I'm just happy nothing managed to escape from that hellhole in the past few days. I've kept that breach shut for twenty-three years and I don't intend to let demons and monsters break free under my watch. I took a risk by opening it to save my son, but never again."

"Hopefully you won't have to," Sinbad smiled encouragingly, circling his palms around the hot mug in his hands before he hesitantly veered to another subject. "This Lord of Darkness…you said he had a personal interest in me. Why?"

Methana raised an eyebrow. "Isn't it obvious? You are a warrior of Good, Sinbad, and the dark forces are growing stronger every day. The balance of magic is shifting. The Lord of Darkness, the Lord of the Flies, Djin Lords…They all either want to crush you so you don't get in their way, or they want to use you to their advantage."

Her ominous words painfully rang in his ears, echoing the ones Maeve had spoken on her last night aboard the Nomad, about strange shifts occurring in magic, shifts that were scaring her. Sinbad swallowed hard. "There are a lot of people fighting for good out there. Why me? Because of this?" He raised his left wrist to indicate his rainbow bracelet.

Methana looked at the myriad of colors in the mysterious piece of jewelry, then brought her eyes back up to meet his. "That is one question I do not know the answer to. This bracelet is a source of pure magic, _good_ magic, but I'm afraid everyone has yet to know its precise purpose. Although of all people, I imagine Dim-Dim would probably have an inkling about it."

"If he does then he never saw fit to tell me anything," Sinbad observed, a small spark of anger igniting inside him for being kept in the dark about so many things by his mentor. "But if the dark forces are so keen in either capturing me or destroying me, then perhaps _they_ know what this is for."

"Perhaps," Methana considered as he held up his wrist once more. "But right now, I'm afraid it is just a matter of speculations and prophecies."

"Prophecies?" Sinbad frowned, lowering his arm.

"Just a bunch of ancient scribbles being unearthed here and there," she replied with a shrug and a sip of her tea. "Words that unfortunately don't make much sense to us common magic practitioners."

"What do they say?" Sinbad inquired, growing more and more intrigued by the minute, the mere word _prophecy_ somehow rattling his bones.

"I don't know," she said apologizingly. "I only heard rumors of prophecies, not the prophecies themselves."

"Then what do the rumors say?" he pressed, digging for any clues he could put his hands on.

"Not much. Mostly warnings about ancient weapons being uncovered, about keys opening gates and the end of the world looming in the horizon with wars that will rip our world apart. Legends about Djin Lords and evil kings and long lost Kallens…" Her voice trailed off in the quiet room, the silence punctuated by the soft pops and crackles of the logs burning in the hearth.

Her ominous words sent unpleasant shivers crawling on his skin, with a sharp sense of urgency filling his blood. "What does it all mean?"

The sorceress pursed her lips. "Hard to say. I am not a prophet and these things are dangerous to interpret." She took a sip of tea pensively, then added, "It's information that should not fall into the wrong hands. The less people know, the better, if you ask me."

Sinbad sighed wearily and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and middle finger. The answers to all his questions felt so close within reach and yet miles away at the same time. He could not begin to explain why, but fear and anguish were rising in his core, inexplicably strong and troubling, urging him to find the truth before it was too late. "So who could decipher these things? Prophets? Wizards?"

Her eyes sharpened a bit at his question and she regarded him closely, as if he had not heard her previous warning about how best it would be if less people knew about these dangerous prophecies. But whatever it was she measured in him by the firelight, she opted to aid him rather than to toss him deeper into the darkness. "Not just any wizard," she explained. "Prophets would be your best option, but they have long been gone from this world. If there are any left, then they must be very old, their magic faded away." She paused then, her thumb tapping on the side of her cup as she thought. "Councils of wizards might be another option; their confluent knowledge and powers would no doubt be a formidable source of information. But alas, most of them have been dismantled hundreds of years ago. Some might have endured to this day, but I could not begin to tell you where to look." Her eyes turned distant then, filling with sorrow. "Magic has been fading from this world over the years. If this obscure threat the prophecies speak about is real, then I'm afraid we will be ill-prepared to face it."

He inhaled deeply, trying to fill in the dark void of anguish that was rapidly expanding in his chest. Something was coming. Something dangerous and powerful. Something that might destroy the world as they knew it. _Something that might make the sky fall over their heads._

He wiped a weary hand over his face, his blood running cold while his thoughts painfully pulled him back to Maeve's last night on the Nomad. She had sensed the shift in magic. She had known something was wrong. It had scared the wits out of her, and then the storm had cruelly ripped her away.

And now she was gone, somewhere he couldn't reach her, somewhere he couldn't protect her. The end of the world might be upon them and he didn't even know where she was.

It drove him completely mad, his sanity precariously hanging by a thread while the marrow of his bones thrummed with an aching sense of urgency.

He hadn't realized he had gone somberly quiet until Methana's voice gently plucked him from his troubled thoughts.

"Are you alright?" she asked concernedly with her head tilted to the side to catch his eye.

Sinbad cleared his throat, trying to chase away the dark clouds that were filling his head. "Yes," he lied, then straightened on his chair to steel himself, his pulse flaring beneath his flesh like a raging ocean. "I have one last question to ask. A favor."

Methana looked at him amiably. "Ask away."

"You're a very powerful sorceress," he began, hope swelling inside his core. "You sent us to the Wikken Hells and you brought us back."

Her intelligent eyes fixed on him, as if she could read him like a book and guess where he was heading.

But he didn't beat around the bush for long and laid his request at her feet like a desperate man. "Can you contact Master Dim-Dim?"

The shift on her features was nearly imperceptible as she sat back in her chair, and for a moment Sinbad sensed that she had known all along that this had been his true reason for seeking her out in the first place. "I believe I can," she finally said, "but I thought he was cursed out of this world."

He let out a mighty breath he had not known was trapped in his lungs. _She could do it._ She could contact his mentor. He would be able to speak to him. _To her_.

His skin tingled with wild hope, his heart going erratic in his chest while his thoughts galloped away like untamed horses. But he quickly reined them all in, casting about for control because he also knew how crushingly painful his disappointment would be if this didn't work.

"He was," he spoke slowly, struggling to maintain his voice level and calm. "By a very powerful sorcerer more than a year ago. But a connection can be made, I've seen it done before," he explained, hoping to show the sorceress that establishing contact _was_ possible. "Master Dim-Dim spoke with us about two months ago and a friend of mine was able to reach him as well with her magic last year."

"Then she must have been very powerful," Methana said, considering his words carefully. "Communicating between worlds and across long distances is hardly a simple task to perform."

"But you can do it, right?" he asked, struggling not to sound pleading as he leaned forward on the edge of his seat.

"I can try," she replied, lowering her mug of tea on a three-legged stool by the hearth before regarding him with interest. "May I ask why you want to contact him so badly?" she inquired, polite yet also trying to measure his intentions, to gauge if the risk was worth taking or not. "I must warn you; I may only be able to maintain the connection for a few minutes at best. There won't be time for all your questions and thorough conversations about prophecies."

Sinbad lowered his gaze sheepishly, avoiding her scrutinizing eyes. He knew his reasons were purely selfish. He just wanted to see Maeve, just wanted a few moments with her, to know she was safe, and possibly gather enough courage to tell her everything he should have said below deck before the storm had hit.

He wanted to recover what was unfairly stolen from them that night, those precious seconds where they could have said goodbye had they known what would happen when they stepped outside in the raging darkness of the sea. That's what he wanted. A chance for farewell. A chance for promises. A small moment to pledge himself to her, to swear an oath that he would find her. That he would never stop looking for her.

That's all he wanted.

There was nothing honorable about what he was asking Methana to do, no grand purpose, no life to save. Just an attempt to salvage the rest of his sanity that was slowly dwindling away.

He looked to the dancing flames, unable to meet the weight of her gaze in the dimness of the room. "I can pay you."

His words hung in the air between them for a moment, like dark swirls of smoke, until he heard her breathe out a deep sigh, her shoulders sagging a bit, perhaps hurt that he would not be completely honest with her.

He could feel her penetrating eyes on him, carefully deciphering what lay hidden beneath his demand, his invisible wounds. He looked back to her then, raw and bare, rising his shield to receive the blow of her refusal to aid him.

But that blow never came as she looked at his pleading gaze. "I have no need of your money," she said softly. "I already owe you much more than that after what you did for my son."

Then she stood, beckoning him to follow her. "Come."

Immense relief washed over him like a wave as he set his mug down next to hers on the stool and went with her, crossing the room to reach a small, dark chamber hidden behind a curtain of white beads that chimed dryly as he lifted them aside to pass through.

Once inside, candles lit up one by one as Methana effortlessly flicked a hand in their directions, their shy golden hues progressively revealing some sort of little magic workshop, its four walls painted completely black as well as the ceiling, and with rows of shelves cluttered with books, potions and eclectic objects of all kinds.

The room felt tiny and suffocating, its oppressing black walls sucking whatever feeble light the candles were providing, and the air seemed to thrum with dangerous magic.

Sinbad's guards immediately went up as he let his eyes tentatively surf on the myriad of eerie items, like weathered bones from many different kinds of small animals, long black feathers stacked in pots like quills, weird symbols weaved in thread, vials filled with what looked like blood…An unpleasant shiver trickled down his spine while his eyes adjusted to the dimness of the cluttered room but he said nothing. He simply watched as Methana stood in front of the farthest wall, her pale hands swiftly pulling at a dusty white shroud to reveal a long oval-shaped mirror hanging on the wall between a bookcase and a large cabinet. Its wide golden edges were covered with intricate symbols painted in silver, the paint flaking in many places, betraying how old the mirror was.

"I haven't used this in ages so I cannot promise you it will work," she explained, positioning herself in front of the glass while seeking his confirmation to proceed.

He glanced at the mirror painfully, lips drawn tight as the knot in his heart. He studied the ancient symbols written along the edges. It might be his only chance. Even if it didn't work and he was crushed by the formidable weight of failure, he had to try.

He locked eyes with Methana and gave her a nod, allowing her to do as she must.

"Alright," she declared, then turned to the wooden cabinet, pulling its doors open to retrieve a short knife. "I need your hand."

He frowned in puzzlement but obeyed, and Methana flipped his left palm upward to press the tip of the blade against his skin as she explained. "The mirror needs to know who is calling, and who it wishes to seek."

The knife cut through his flesh, drawing a thin line of blood in his palm. It left a small stinging pain in its wake, but he did not flinch, allowing the sorceress to accomplish whatever was needed.

When the dagger was reddened with his blood, she threw him a final glance, seeking his ultimate confirmation, offering him one last chance to turn back.

But he stood rooted in place like stone, resolve etched in his bones. "Do it."

The sorceress nodded one last time and touched the bloodied blade to the glass of the age old mirror, a red sparkle immediately pulsing beneath the surface only to vanish seconds later within its depth, as if the mirror was plunging deep into the wall behind it, like the opening of a bottomless tunnel.

"Step back," Methana warned him before backing away from the magical surface as well, only a few feet, then raised her hands so her palms would face the reflecting glass.

Sinbad stood behind her a little to the side, and as she began to chant into a language unknown to his ears, his fingers reached for the golden pin tucked securely in his pocket. Bracing himself for whatever would come next, he rubbed his thumb gently over the knotted designs, willing his mind to latch onto the woman he sought, banishing everything else. His throat went dry, and as she invaded his head like a spell, she brought with her all the unimaginable pain and longing and suffering that ripped through him every day, cruel and inevitable, with the taste of bitter regrets.

But he let it all in, crushing her golden pin hard in his fist, the sharp angles digging into the wounded flesh of his palm. He clenched his jaw tight and glared at the mirror, almost daring whatever Gods were out there to deny him this single, desperate wish, and then Methana's hands began to glow, a pale white light blending with sparkles of purples and blues, the magic slightly chiming across the dark room.

Orbs of light formed against the sorceress' palms, thrumming with measured powers and reflecting on the glass in front of her like two balls of white and purplish light pulsing on the surface.

Gusts of wind soon picked up around her, swooshing around the hem of her dress and expanding to the entire chamber, whistling through the shelves, ruffling loose pages of opened books and snuffing out the poor candles, plunging the room in complete darkness save for the flickering lights from the magic at work.

His good hand immediately reached for his sword out of instinct, his palm closing around the hilt as he steeled himself against the growing forces of the magical orbs and the rising wind.

The mirror continued to glow, reflecting the colors emanating from Methana's hands and pulsing on the surface of the glass like sizzles of lightening, buzzing with growing intensity as the wind roared in the small black room.

The sharp concentration of light soon became too much to bear and he had to lift his arm to his brow to protect his eyes, straining to see correctly through the bright flickers of magic and the deafening whirlwind.

Broken images then abruptly flashed in the depth of the glass, fragmented pictures rushing on the mirror but too fast and blurry to properly see.

His eyes went wide, his heart suddenly pounding against his ribcage like a hammer. _It was working._ Whatever Methana was doing, she was establishing a connection.

His feet moved on their own accord, stepping closer for a better look as he wildly scanned the storm of sizzling lights to catch any detail that may be hidden beyond.

But everything was flashing at lightning speed, the blinding sparks of magic making it hard to distinguish things correctly despite how hard he strained his eyes to steal quick glimpses of the moving pictures.

But then he saw it.

A beach. An endless beach of white sand, with powerful waves crashing on shore.

Next a vivid canvas of green hills, contrasting with a clear blue sky.

Then a rose garden.

His legs almost faltered at the familiar sight of his mentor's favorite flowers, the sight of the garden nearly causing him to faint right then and there. There was no doubt the roses were his, which meant Dim-Dim was somewhere in there, within his reach beyond the glass.

His pulse throbbed in his throat as he stared at the mirror, desperate and frantic, eyes dancing on every broken piece of the images that were flashing before him, searching for a head of red hair.

His eyes hurt against the speed of the rushing pictures, meddling with the blinding sizzles of magic, and he was forced to keep shielding his eyes from the light and the forceful wind, blinking every few seconds so he could keep on peering into the depths of the ancient mirror.

As the images spun endlessly, blending and melting and distorting, jumping from the white beach to the green hills to the rose garden, a sense of alarm slowly crept into his blood like a silent warning.

There was nothing.

The pictures were empty and bleak. Artificial. Lifeless.

His breath locked in his lungs, urgency driving him on as he stepped closer to the mirror once more, past Methana, whose eyes were now open wide and glowing bright with the magic consuming her. She was as still as a marble statue, with only the wind upsetting the netted shroud on her hair and ruffling the folds of her dress against her legs.

He didn't how long she could maintain the connection but he knew it couldn't be more than a few minutes at best.

As the wind raged on around them in the dark room, rumbling through the shelves, he focused all his attention on the trembling mirror, ablaze with a storm of light and a flickering slideshow of images, the only window to the person he desperately sought.

A curse and a prayer hung on his lips as he took yet another step, begging the good spirits to grant him his wish, when suddenly his wrist began to burn, his bracelet igniting with its distinctive blend of colors, a sharp pain shooting up his entire arm. He blinked at it with a wince, frowning in confusion as the familiar magical chime reached his ears over the loud windstorm.

He had no clue what was going on but when his eyes urgently shot back to the mirror, the flashes of images began to vibrate, imprisoned in the everlasting whirlwind and picking up alarming speed like a spinning wheel, faster and faster. The sizzles of white and purplish light crackled in the air violently, as if fighting against the sudden accelerated pace, bending and breaking.

Lightnings began to ricochet off of the mirror as Methana struggled to control the wild forces at work, the sizzles bouncing off inside the black chamber and smashing everything they touched.

His bracelet was burning on his wrist, the colors shining brighter and brighter as he strained his eyes to study the jumble of light on the mirror, failing to make sense of it as the glass suddenly cracked along the lower edge of the golden frame.

Time was slipping away like sand through his fingers, the foul taste of anger boiling within him like venom. He gritted his teeth and pushed on, taking yet another step closer to the rattling glass, the need to catch a glimpse of her driving him mad, bringing him ever closer to the edge where he would snap, where his sanity would feed on his rage and his need for vengeance for what had been done to them.

He glared at the mirror, silently pleading to see her face, when suddenly a picture formed and remained still, the storm of lights abruptly halting to pause on the image, steady and calm, as if time itself had frozen for a moment, the wind dying down to melt into silence.

His heart nearly jumped out of his chest, the soft light permitting him to no longer shield his eyes and look at the mirror properly.

It was the inside of a cozy room painted in white, with a window casting a sliver of sunlight straight in front of him. But the angle of the entire picture was weird, the wooden surface of a table stretching beneath him as if he was a bug perched on top of it, bringing back the memory of when Rumina had shrunk him in Basra. He was seeing the inside of the white room as if he was back to that tiny size, somehow hovering on a wooden table next to an opened book.

He found no trace of life in that strange canvas until a big hand carrying a steaming mug suddenly swept in his view, a giant man stepping before the table and stopping abruptly as if he had spotted him on the table, a long white sleeve heavily weighting around his wrist as he turned and stepped closer.

Sinbad's heart violently skipped a beat, the force of it stealing his breath away. He recognized those robes.

It was Dim-Dim.

His mouth opened to shout his name but then another crack sliced the mirror along the upper edge, while the bottom one expanded toward the center, and he could feel Methana shaking behind him as she wrestled with the formidable strength of the magical connection.

And then his bracelet blazed on his wrist again, the vibrant rainbow colors abruptly shifting to white crystalline ripples, hot and burning.

And then Dim-Dim's figure vanished, the storm of light exploding once more on the mirror with blinding force as his mentor disappeared amidst the chaotic sizzles of magic, the sharp wind roaring back to life as well like a formidable beast.

He wanted to scream in protest at the sudden violent shift, to summon Dim-Dim back to the surface again, but he was forced to take a step back against the powerful outburst of magic in the black chamber, shutting his eyes tight against the bright painful light and bringing his arm back up to cover his brow.

The entire black room quaked around him, the floor rumbling beneath his boots as the magical strikes zapped through the chamber like a lightning storm out of control, blowing up everything they touched, chipping at the walls and destroying what lay on the shelves, books and vials and quills alike.

The violence of it all was frightening, his pulse flaring beneath his skin while a burning pain shot up his entire arm.

He looked down at his bracelet again, the white ripples as clear as liquid crystals, coiling around his wrist like twinkling stars. Waves of them were vibrating on his bracelet as he stared at them, completely thunderstruck by their unexpected appearance.

It was the same ripples Maeve had elicited one evening, her mere touch conjuring them around his wrist effortlessly. No one else could call them forth.

_She was there_. Somewhere beyond the sizzling glass.

He panicked. Like a desperate mad man, he dashed for the ancient mirror, wrestling against the pressure of the massive windstorm and all the flashing lights that blinded him and pushed him away.

He extended his hand forward, pleading, praying, fingertips inches from the glass, her name hanging on his lips.

_Just a glimpse_ , he pleaded, begging to whatever gods were listening.

Then something dark raced across the buzzing surface, a somber scenery of dead things that looked like crooked roots and twisted trees, but it rushed so rapidly before his eyes that he could not tell for sure, nor could he make sense of it as it was quickly swallowed by the storm of flashing lights.

What the hell was that?

Then he finally touched the glass.

And it was over.

The mirror violently exploded before him, the glass shattering in every direction with a ball of tightly compressed air that blasted shards everywhere in the chambers. The forceful blow threw him and Methana across the room, his spine hitting the edge of a table before he landed hard on the floor with a groan, shaken and dizzy.

Then the small chamber abruptly went as quiet as a grave, with the wind sucked into the walls by an invisible force and everything was plunged in a darkness so thick he could almost taste it. The silence that followed was deafening compared with the previous uproar of magic and wind, and bits and pieces of wood and random objects that had once stood on the shelves tumbled down around him like rain.

When his senses properly returned to him, he pushed himself up tentatively, raising his head to look at the mess around the smoking dark room. When a few miraculously intact candles timidly ignited, he spotted Methana on the floor as she lifted herself up with a wince.

"Are you alright?" he asked concernedly as he quickly went to help pull her up to her feet.

"Yes, I'm fine," she replied breathlessly, rubbing one of her elbows. With a heavy, frustrated sigh, she tossed a glance at the smashed mirror on the ground. "I don't understand what happened. The spell was working just fine until the connection somehow drastically shifted."

His brow furrowed in thought and he looked down at his wrist. "I think that may have been my fault."

Catching her breath, Methana followed his gaze, the shadows of sharp calculations surfing in her eyes as she seemed to connect the dots, but she said nothing, as if to grant him a few moments to recover from what had happened.

His mind was racing like a storm, a complicated morass of questions colliding in his head while his blood ignited with a sense of rising alarm. The images he had glimpsed in the mirror were resonating in his mind's eyes like broken fragments of glass. He had seen Dim-Dim, he was sure of it. The rose garden, the white sleeve…It could have been no one else but him.

But he hadn't seen her. Not on the beach. Not on the green hills. Not in the rose garden.

She had been nowhere in sight.

Instead he'd seen something else, some creepy scenery of dead trees he couldn't even begin to describe, pictures summoned forth by the strange white ripples on his bracelet, a unique display he'd only seen once on his wrist and that had been prompted by no one else but her.

It made no sense.

And it ate at him like a festering wound, doubt sipping into his blood like a blight as he stepped over to the shattered mirror, pushing at the smoking shards of glass with his boot, the answers he so desperately sought scattered on the floor, lost and inaccessible.

"I'm sorry I couldn't maintain the connection longer," Methana finally spoke softly behind him, apologizing.

But he shook his head somberly, the weight in his heart growing heavier by the minute. "It's not your fault. You couldn't have known my bracelet would interfere."

He clenched his jaw then, a strike of anger slashing through him like a blade as a feeling of restlessness silently prompted him to run, as if he was miles away from a place he needed to be. Something was wrong.

He exhaled heavily to calm himself, crushing Maeve's pin into his palm at his side, then he turned around dejectedly and walked past Methana, beyond the curtain of white beads and back into the main room, desperate for air and light.

He could feel his muscles stretched tight in his limbs, ready to snap, urging him to spring into action, to set sail and chase the unknown, to find the dark woods he had glimpsed, but he came to a stop in front of the hearth, clueless and lost, his eyes blankly looking at the flames who were still burning quietly as if nothing had happened at all since they had left their tea. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides repeatedly, eager to move, to work, to fight.

Something was wrong. He could not explain it nor put words to it, but something was terribly wrong.

"Who was it exactly you wished me to contact?" Methana asked from behind as she joined him, her voice dripping with suspicion and curiosity.

He closed his eyes for a moment, struggling to get his composure under control while his mind battled with a whirlwind of questions. "A friend."

There was a pause behind him. "She's with Dim-Dim?"

He flinched slightly, turning to face the sorceress in the dim firelight, marveling at how transparent he must appear for her to so easily guess that his friend was a woman. Words failed him momentarily and all he could do was nod.

Methana pursed her lips together in thought, then linked her hands together. "The connection I tried to initiate worked, it took you to the place you wanted me to reach, to Dim-Dim, yet your bracelet diverted the course of that connection, altering the nature of the magic in order to find the person you really sought."

"Meaning what?" he frowned.

"It appears your friend is harder to trace," she guessed. "Is she a sorceress?"

"Yes," he confirmed, his brow still drearily drawn together. "But how can she be harder to trace if she and Dim-Dim are both in the same place?" As soon as he spoke the words, doubt crept down his spine like a sickening shiver and he no longer wanted to hear the answer, lest it confirmed what he feared.

Methana paused again, sighing heavily as she sat down in front of the fire. "The nature of their magic is different," she offered, choosing her words carefully as if trying not to shatter the hope he was clinging to. "Dim-Dim's unique set of powers is what allows him to communicate across the veils between worlds and across formidable distances. Your friend's magic may not allow her the same luxury."

His gaze returned to the flames beside him, their warmth licking at his legs, and he knew pretty well that Maeve also possessed the necessary powers to communicate between worlds and across invisible miles since he had seen her do it last year.

He balled his hand into a fist again, crushing the golden pin in his wounded flesh, while he felt the stormy cloud of questions inside his head shift into a darker shade, dangerous and frightening, the ground beneath his feet quaking as he was forced to face the terrible possibility behind what he had glimpsed in the mirror.

" _Or she's not with him_ ," he concluded gravely, his vision turning black at the edges as rage and devastation blended together into an overwhelming wave that swelled within his chest. He raised his left wrist and glared at the now lifeless colors like a snarling wolf, helplessness soaking into his core while his fury at Dim-Dim threatened to tip him over the edge.

But he would not snap in front of Methana.

"I'm sorry for the mirror," he said, facing her again, his composure hanging on by a thread.

"It's a negligible loss," she dismissed his apology with a shrug. "The rest I can easily replace." Then she stood up, hesitantly stepping closer to gently touch his arm, as if to appease the storm in his blood. "Do not despair, Sinbad. I'm sure you will find your answers one way or another."

She offered him an empathic smile and he could only nod in return as he retreated to the door, a final _thank you_ falling from his lips as he closed the door behind him.

He felt numb, his senses dulled and muted, rage and fear mixing in his blood like a formidable poison. His world was now torn asunder by a terrible possibility.

Maeve might not be with Dim-Dim.


	23. Skinwalkers

[](https://imgur.com/kr4CdyP)

**Chapter 19 - Skinwalkers**

The next couple of days were the longest and weariest Maeve had ever spent in her entire life, full of new blisters and bloody bruises and scratches and bug bites and cold rain and sleepless nights, all of which were coupled with sore muscles and rusty joints and aching back and swollen feet.

Not to mention the dirt and the mud.

There was mud everywhere. Inside her boots, under her nails, in her hair, on her face, in her packs. Everything and everyone was growing grittier with each new day, the only salvation being either a heavy rain or an unexpected brook.

The single positive thing was that the more they trekked, the lighter the bags became, their food supply growing thinner and thinner with every mile they travelled. As it was, she only needed to carry one satchel for the rest of her apples and pears, which made the journey much easier in that regard, especially up rock walls and down abrupt slants. With lighter packs she could also offer a hand in carrying young children and toddlers so their parents could get a rest.

That's how she came to grow so fond of little Rose and Sam, the cutest brother and sister she had ever seen, with their light blond hair and bright green eyes so full of curiosity and intelligence. Taking her wandering mind off the crew and off _him_ , they kept her occupied with their adorable jabbering about everything they knew, like how to capture butterflies, tame wild birds and teach tricks to dogs, and they also greatly entertained her with the tales of their favorite stories about fairies, trolls, giants and dwarves.

She had literally fallen in love with them, so innocent and sweet, and the more time she spent with them and their parents, the brighter the little flame of protectiveness within her shone brighter. And it was the same for everyone else she had grown to know in this convoy of brave souls, soldiers and civilians alike. All the names Leisa at taught her at the beginning of the trek were beginning to stick in her mind, and the more people she spoke to, while trekking, while sharing a meal at night around the campfire, while she occasionally helped old Lobelia tend to wounds, the more protective she grew of them all. Sharing such close quarters with people, not to mention in such a peculiar location of constant dangers like the Blind Mountains, she supposed bonding and caring and growing attached was simply inevitable. They were all in this together after all, a team, and they had to watch each other's back if they even hoped to survive these cursed woods.

Robin, Leisa, Simon, Coop, Leo, Mark…

It felt like she was part of a new crew. A band of companions she was slowly growing more and more fond of every day despite how hard she tried to wall herself off to their good hearts and their good nature.

But it was impossible not to care. Not at this point.

She was spending way too much time with them already. Day and night. Through darkness and mud and blood.

They were her crewmates now, and she would stand up to protect them no matter what, them and everybody else, a duty that now pulsed in her blood like all the soldiers she travelled with.

It had almost been two weeks of trekking now, and they had just entered the dangerous territory of the Skinwalkers this morning, the perils awaiting them now dreadfully closer than ever and frighteningly imminent with each new step.

Robin and Leisa were growing restless with each hour that trickled by, as were the nearby soldiers who compulsively checked if the bells they were carrying were securely tied to their belts, stuffed with clothe for the time being but ready to ring at any moment.

Robin was even more tensed and on edge than usual, if that was even possible, the deep frown of concern creasing his brow now a permanent trait on his features, as well as the tightness in his entire composure, like a bowstring pulled tight and ready to snap at any moment. She wished she could somehow alleviate his burden of anguish as General, but words failed her as she watched him pace around the convoy like a silent guardian.

They had currently paused a few minutes to rest, to catch their breath and drink water, sitting amidst a thick brush of intricately woven roots and dark trees that made it extremely difficult to progress on the trail. They had to navigate through the dense foliage by constantly bending and twisting their bodies around, watching their steps and hunching their shoulders as crooked branches always stood in their way at every turn. It was a daunting path to travel on so everyone welcomed the brief respite at the moment, even if they had to huddle in creepy, slimy brambles.

Lost in thought, she watched as Robin drifted away with Simon amidst the convoy to quickly check on the soldiers, while Leisa stood guard by a nearby tree and Mark, Leo and Coop shared a snack a few feet away.

Her mind was flitting aimlessly from one thought to the next, but Rose soon poked her arm to catch her attention.

Maeve turned back to the little blond girl sitting on a tiny rock in front of her and watched as she pointed at the middle nutshell between them, indicating her choice out of the three.

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously at the child, wondering if she had peeked while she was looking away, and the girl giggled as Maeve upturned the shell to reveal the pebble hidden beneath.

She had definitely peeked, Maeve thought, or the little girl was simply impressively attentive to details for her age.

Nevertheless, she poked at Rose to tickle her in admonishment and the little girl hid her laugh in her tiny hand, careful not to make a sound.

That was the new rule since they had entered the Skinwalkers' territory this morning.

Silence.

Making as little sound as possible not to attract the deadly creatures any sooner than they had to.

It was an unsettling atmosphere, to trek through the Blind Mountains without speaking, communicating with signs and whispers as much as possible. Everything felt heavier and deadlier, every little sound somehow amplified much louder than it would normally be. A branch cracking. Someone coughing. The strap of a backpack being adjusted.

It was maddening.

But everyone was as disciplined as ever to respect the rule, even the children and toddlers who were surprisingly quiet in these frightening woods.

Rose poked her again, then pointed at the three shells between them, indicating it was now her turn to choose which one was hiding the pebble.

Maeve pretended to think it over for a few seconds, then pointed to the nutshell on the right, watching as Rose upturned it to reveal nothing with a grin.

She pointed at the left one and again the child flipped the shell over but still no pebble.

The little girl giggled quietly behind her tiny hands, and Maeve pulled a face as she reached to upturn the last shell herself, revealing nothing again.

Rose fidgeted on her seat to contain her laugher, probably very proud of her little trick, but Maeve knew better.

She turned to her little blond brother Sam sitting right next to her and extended her hand, waiting for him to hand over the stolen pebble as he erupted into fits of giggles like his sister.

His tiny hand finally opened to reveal the pebble and Maeve immediately pounced on them both, poking at their bellies while they laughed soundlessly and twisted to escape her tickling punishment.

But then their smiles soon vanished, as rain began to fall amidst the crooked trees and everyone looked up through the canopy of tortuous branches to try and catch a glimpse of the dark skies beyond.

But the forest was simply too dense to see anything.

Within seconds the rain rapidly turned heavier, like a cold downpour of nails, and they all hunched their shoulders in vain to escape the watery onslaught, pulling at the hoods of their jackets to cover their heads.

Maeve quickly got to her feet along with the others, clutching Rose and Sam under her jacket until Ally and David gathered them in their arms. She then grabbed her packs and joined Leisa who gathered her own, the Radakeel barely flinching under the rain, as opposed to Coop who silently cursed at the sky in frustration with outstretched arms, his sweeping black hair falling into his eyes. Leo hopped on his feet with a scowl but didn't openly complain, while Mark growled and glared into space like an angry bear, his bulky form reluctantly rising from his seat in the rain, picking up his battle-axe with a curse.

Robin trotted back to them in no time, and after everyone had returned to their appointed posts down the trek line, Coop to the rear to join Simon, and Mark and Leo in the middle, they were on the move again, carefully weaving their way through the crammed tortuous trees while the rain drummed down on them like huge buckets of icy water.

Everyone was drenched to the bones within minutes, shivering with the cold, and with the ground rendered a slick path of mud, many slipped and fell on the treacherous roots beneath their feet, everyone's balance turning precarious as fingers easily lost their grips on the slimy branches.

But they kept on advancing slowly, carrying exhausted children in their arms and helping each other move amidst the complicated trail.

The heavy rain just kept falling incessantly, a deafening downpour that was hammering on her head and shoulders like ice, cold as death, soaking through her clothes all the way to her bones. Her fingers were numb and her teeth were clattering, but she pushed on, following Robin in the gathering darkness of the woods, wondering how much longer they had to continue before they could make camp. She certainly had no desire to spend another sleepless night in the freezing rain, and she knew her rusty legs would be begging for rest soon enough.

But Robin kept pushing onward, expertly weaving his way through the twisted trees and tangled branches, leading the trek in complete darkness as if he knew exactly where he was going, his shoulders stiff like wood under the hard rain.

Maeve knew he had been sleeping less and less in the last few days, prowling the campsite at night to watch over his men, anticipating the looming array of dangers and nasty creatures awaiting them in the dark. He was exhausted on his feet all the time, she could tell, but his hypervigilance and unyielding sense of duty were keeping him up like a mighty oak, tall and sturdy, pushing ever onward to lead his people to safety.

But no one was safe. Not as long as they were trapped in the Blind Mountains.

"Does this bloody trail ever end?" Leisa growled behind her, her mane of lava braids soaked and dripping.

It was strange to hear a voice after so many hours of crushing silence since this morning, but with the heavy rain currently pouring down all around, Maeve figured any sound they could possibly make was simply sucked away into the deafening curtain of rumbling water, masking their presence from any prying ears.

"Another hour," Robin replied wearily, wiping droplets out his eyes as he continued onward through the foul crowded trees.

Maeve followed carefully into each of his steps, straining her eyes in the darkness not to trip, when suddenly a string of hushed whispers travelled up the trek line from soldier to soldier.

"General," David called out through the rain.

Robin paused and turned around, his face dripping wet. "What is it?"

"Leo and Mark are calling for a halt," the soldier explained. "A woman tripped and broke her arm."

Maeve watched as Robin silently weighted the situation, clearly not fond of the idea of stopping where they were, all crammed up in the intricate network of trees.

"We can't stay here. It's too dangerous," Leisa pointed out grimly in his stead, voicing his concern as she looked like nothing more than a shadow with her black skin and black leather outfit in the complete darkness.

Robin wiped a hand across his face wearily, and after a few seconds of quiet inner debate, he looked at them gravely, his small blue eyes dead serious.

"Don't move until I come back," he ordered, meeting Maeve's eyes for a moment before he walked past them to head for the middle of the trek line where Leo and Mark were stationed.

Maeve watched his back as he disappeared in the pouring rain and the dead trees, her nerves twitching with concern as a nasty shiver crawled up her spine.

As the rain poured down on her face, a flicker of guilt also gnawed at her as she realized she had never truly apologized to him for that night by the campfire where she had brushed him off rather harshly. True, he had been prying about things she didn't want to discuss, making assumptions about her past crewmates and what lay in her heart, but she regretted the way she had strolled off to sleep like an angry child. However, neither of them had ever addressed the conversation again. Robin appeared to have simply waved it out of his mind, never making any reference to it any more than she did, as if the two of them had just wordlessly chosen to ignore their little argument, slipping back into their usual friendship as if nothing had changed. But now that he was vanishing in the blackness of the woods in dangerous territory, she didn't like having things left unspoken between them, each word feeling like roots waiting to bloom into bitter regrets. Something she was all too familiar with.

But now was not the time to let her mind dwell on such matters. She was too cold and too profoundly exhausted to think straight anyway.

She turned around to stand guard with Leisa and the other soldiers close by, scanning the impenetrable darkness before them on the trail and on either side, everyone slightly fidgeting on their feet, freezing under the rain.

She rubbed her arms in an attempt to instill a bit of warmth back into her bones, hiding her numb fingers in her armpits, when a strange croaking sound reached her ears through the heavy shower, like a low guttural rumble that echoed in the black trees to their right.

Everyone froze on the spot, hearing it as well and stricken with sudden fear, eyes darting to locate the eerie noise.

Wet hair plastered on her face, Maeve stood completely still, barely breathing as Leisa, poised for battle, carefully stepped up next to her like a lion ready to bolt on a prey, Sleyans at the ready.

Something was out there.

Maeve searched the thick blackness of the forest as another ghostly croak echoed in the night, this time to their left. Everyone's head snapped in the direction of the bodiless sound, flinching and stifling yelps of fright.

Feeling her blood run as cold as the rain, Maeve swallowed hard as her heart trashed in her chest like a wild animal, attempting to get a grip on her coiling nerves.

With the utmost care, along with the other soldiers, she slid her pack and satchel off her shoulders as quietly as possible and laid them on the muddy ground, the rain incessantly drumming down and masking every sound around them except for Leisa's Sleyans crackling with magic in her hands as the Radakeel studied the darkness like a panther ready to strike.

When a branch cracked loudly, almost in unison, Maeve and the other soldiers gripped their bows, notched arrows into place and drew the strings, ready to fire at any sign of movement in the woods.

Straining her eyes to see through the dead tortuous trees and the rain, Maeve held her breath, her entire body as stiff as a marble statue. She nearly gasped when another guttural clicking sound rumbled to their right once more, this time much louder and closer. Her head whipped around but dark wet trees and treacherous roots were the only things she could see. The rest was just endless blackness through a curtain of falling water, the darkness so deep and thick it was almost painful to look at.

Blinking the rain out of her eyes and clutching the string of her bow in a death grip, she raised her eyes to the branches and the thick canopy of foul leaves above their heads.

When a lightning cut through the sky up high, she froze, terror seizing her.

Thrust deep in a white head twisted to the side at a sickening angle, a pair of big white eyes glowed back at her.

A Skinwalker.

Thunder boomed in the night.

And then it was chaos.

With frightening speed, the skeletal white body dove down on them with a raucous croak, mouth gaping wide with rows of sharp teeth.

A scream nearly fell from her lips as she released her arrow, the iron tip piercing the creature right between the eyes, and before she could even snatch another arrow from her quiver an avalanche of pale bony corpses fell on them through the darkness in an uproar of guttural croaks.

Leisa immediately dashed in front of her, quick as a cat, and took the blow of the nearest Skinwalker, her Sleyans slashing through the rain as she rammed their tips in the creature's emaciated back, its hideous shriek ringing in the night.

When Maeve wheeled around at the screams of the other soldiers as arrows were released everywhere, she saw at least a dozen crawling white bodies advancing towards them on all sides with unsettling speed through the crammed trees, their joints all bent and twisted at weird angles, with their skin white and slimy and their eyes empty and blind.

It was a terrifying sight, but the fight that broke out all around her on the tortuous path of roots and twisted trees quickly made her switch to survival mode as the disgusting creatures advanced on them from every direction, bearing their sharp fangs in visceral hunger, rows upon rows of teeth in the depth of their mouths like deadly sharks.

Heart pumping in her chest, she quickly fired arrows at every target of white skin she could see, hitting home in bony shoulders, rickety deformed chests and long craning necks, but her string of successful shots was cut short when a Skinwalker threw itself at her unexpectedly from behind, nearly sending her to the muddy ground. She shoved it away by ramming her elbow in its gut but then another beast blindly lunged at her from the tree to her left, snatching her brow from her grip and snapping it in two like a twig.

Stumbling back in the blinding rain as lightning ripped the sky once more, Maeve unsheathed her sword just in time to slash at the creature, its red blood contrasting with the sickening whiteness of its skin.

When thunder growled in the air again, she didn't lose a second and immediately hacked at a new skeletal body, backhanded one across the face and kicked another in the head, fire pumping in her veins as her battle instincts guided her movements through the bloody fight in the dark of the night.

She couldn't even tell who was fighting beside her in the rain anymore, the soldiers, volunteers and bony creatures all blending together in a wet blur of screams, slashes and croaks.

Everything was happening too fast, with no moment to properly assess the situation at all, no time to form any kind of defensive strategy. The battle was simply too brutal and overwhelming, and her mind was entirely focused on the endless waves of creatures coming at them like rotten corpses, every nerve in her body blazing with the primal fire of survival.

But her ears were still working, and as she carved a Skinwalker open with her blade, she recognized two very distinctive screams in the bloody chaos.

Eyes frantically darting around with white hot alarm, she spotted Ally huddled up in a nook of tortuous roots, desperately clutching little Rose and Sam against her body as the children screamed and clung to their mother while a Skinwalker clawed at the roots to get to them.

David was fighting a little off to the side, the man struggling to keep the nasty creatures away from his family, but he was outnumbered, bony arms snatching at him from all sides faster than he could hack them off.

Maeve dashed forward without a second thought, moving through the crooked trees and the slippery mud until her sword arced in the air and beheaded the blind croaking beast that was attacking his wife and children.

Blood gushed at her feet as the beast fell, and she blinked through the heavy downpour to try to see if the woman and the children were alright, but then the wind painfully left her lungs as a Skinwalker smashed into her middle, violently slamming her into a tree. Maeve groaned against the hard impact and lost her grip on her sword in the icy rain, but before the hissing creature's teeth could snap her throat, her fingers curled around the hilt of the dagger in her boot and she thrust the blade under its ribs.

Shoving the dead weight away from her, she quickly picked up her fallen sword and regained her balance just in time to stab a Skinwalker flying above her head from a nearby tree and slash another croaking creature right across the face.

In the cold dark rain, it was chaos on a scale she had never witnessed.

All around her, screams and croaks echoed everywhere as soldiers and volunteers desperately fought off the crawling Skinwalkers in the blinding downpour, with more bloody corpses, both human and beast, littering the muddy ground with every second that fled by.

It was madness.

The Skinwalkers were too fast. Way too fast.

After stabbing a bony hand grasping her leg, Maeve winced when a vicious Skinwalker clawed at her face from out of nowhere, her cheek burning as she fell down under the weight of the creature who savagely jumped on her. Dead white eyes stared back at her as she struggled to kick the skeletal monster off of her but it was too strong. Roots dug in her back as she wrestled to break free, but suddenly the Skinwalker uttered a loud screech, its face contorting in pain as Leisa's Sleyans crackled over the rain and pressed into the creature's back.

A black feline shadow, the Radakeel shoved the dead beast off of her and pulled her up by the hand, and once she was back on her feet Maeve had no time to blink because a trio of Skinwalkers lunged at them from the trees almost instantly.

She punched one square in the nose when a bell unexpectedly rang behind them, loud and clear over the rain, followed by the pleading, heart-wrenching scream of a woman.

It was Ally again.

Thunder roared in the air and a flash of lightning ripped through the darkness.

Head whipping around after slashing the throat of another Skinwalker, Maeve saw David running away amidst the dark trees, white bodies crawling after him as the bell he was waving slowly faded in the downpour with each stride he took, sacrificing himself for his wife and children and the rest of the convoy, an army of white monsters chasing after him.

Without thinking, Maeve rushed across the trek line to race after the soldier.

"No!" Leisa bounded on her, gripping her arm firmly. "Let him go! You can't stop him!"

Maeve blinked at the Radakeel through the drumming rain in disbelief. "We can't just let him die!" she shouted back, yanking her arm away as she clutched her sword tightly, wheeling around to resume her chase after David in the dark twisted trees while Ally and the children screamed and cried.

She caught up with the brave soldier in a matter of seconds, the man surrounded by more Skinwalkers than she could count, croaking and hissing as they circled and clawed at him to bring him down, drawn to him by the sound of the cursed bell.

Unsheathing her two remaining daggers, Maeve threw them at the closest creatures, the blades lodging in their bony backs with sickening cracks. She then jumped into the midst without thinking and slashed at the sea of white limbs, hacking and cutting everything she could touch while David stared at her in bewilderment, as if being rescued when he aimed to sacrifice himself made absolutely no sense.

Ignoring his mystification, between two strikes at the skeletal creatures, Maeve yanked the bell from his hands and flung it away, the metal chime hitting a rock in the darkness and creating confusion amidst the Skinwalkers who slightly dispersed themselves to locate the echoing sound, craning their necks at inhuman angles as their dead eyes stared all around them.

The diversion allowed Maeve and David to dispatch a few disoriented creatures but sooner than they had hoped the ringing of their swords cutting through flesh brought the attention of the Skinwalkers right back on them, and that's when she dreadfully realized how dangerously outnumbered they were and that they didn't stand a chance in the long run.

To confirm her fear, an angry white corpse swiftly tackled David and bit his arm in a frenzy, the soldier screaming in pain as the sharp teeth sunk deep into his unarmored flesh. Maeve immediately ran her blade across the Skinwalker's back, but still the soldier slumped to his knees, clutching his bloody arm as she continued to shove, slash and cut through the encircling pack of white beasts croaking at them from all sides.

A single thought burned in her mind.

Survival.

But the situation was bad.

Very bad.

And her strength was dwindling away.

She kicked at a white head and stabbed at a shoulder, cut off a bony hand and broke a nose, but still the white rotten creatures kept coming at them through the rain, like ants incessantly pouring out of their nest.

In a matter of seconds, they would be ripped apart by the wicked monsters, she knew it, the terrifying thought flaring in her blood as she backhanded a Skinwalker hard across the face as it lunged for the wounded soldier, and which caused her to be a second too late to ward off the attack of another creature who bounced in her direction to bring her down.

She raised her arm to counter the blow but suddenly Leisa leaped from the darkness like a panther, her Sleyans colliding with the Skinwalker with so much force it split its head open.

Maeve gasped in bewilderment as blood spattered everywhere, wild hope sparking in her chest as the warrior woman joined the overwhelming fray with the strength of ten men.

The Radakeel looked completely furious though, a dark glower burning in her eyes as she shouted over the rain. "You are so much trouble!"

But Maeve could not reply to the woman's reprimand as more Skinwalkers rushed at them from all sides, waves of bony limbs rolling at their feet like an ocean of monsters.

Back to back, she and Leisa danced through the lethal pack, sword and Sleyans arcing through the air as they dispatched as many skeletal beasts as they could, standing guard over David bleeding on his knees in the mud.

But it wouldn't be enough.

They had to move, to find cover. Anything to gain higher ground.

Maeve opened her mouth to speak over the loud rain, but the words stuck on her tongue as a Skinwalker aggressively slammed into her middle, the collision so brutal she and the creature fell and rolled many feet away from Leisa and David.

The air in her lungs painfully left her as she landed in the muck, gasping and wrestling with the ferocious monster who snapped his teeth to rip off her throat. Terrified, she managed to break its neck and shove its body off her, but two more Skinwalkers dashed for her through the downpour, grabbing at her ankles with their claws slashing at her flesh through her trousers. She kicked them off frantically, her numb fingers scraping through the thick mud to grasp her fallen sword but the blade was nowhere to be found.

When the creatures momentarily recoiled from her kicks, she hurriedly flipped over onto her knees and backed away in terror, now weaponless against the deadly beasts.

She scurried to her feet but the two Skinwalkers leaped on her again without any respite, claws ripping and teeth snapping. Blinded by the rain, she retreated away to escape their grisly attacks but not enough, and before she knew it her feet caught in slimy roots.

A real scream escaped her this time as the ground disappeared beneath her, the two vicious Skinwalkers joining her in an unexpected fall down an abrupt slant hidden in the shadows, their bodies heavily rolling through a deadly combination of slick sludge, jutting rocks and crooked branches.

For a moment she couldn't tell up from down as obstacles hit her from all sides, and when she landed hard on her back once more, her head spun dizzily like a whirlwind, her vision doubling as rain fell into her eyes.

She laid motionless for a second, gasping for air and aching all over, but her survival instincts quickly flared in her limbs like raging flames, urging her to get up and move.

She sat up in a flash and tried to stand but her left foot was caught in a tangle of branches and roots, refusing to budge.

She twisted around in terror, eyes wide and searching for the two creatures that had fallen along with her, hunting her mercilessly.

The Skinwalkers were crawling towards her across a patch of slimy rocks, their heads twisted to the sides and their dead eyes staring at her hungrily while they croaked and hissed in the pouring rain.

Frantic, her fingers clawed at the roots around her ankle but to no avail, the blind monsters baring their pointy teeth venomously as they kept on advancing, their bony arms and legs bending and contorting in a sickening way across the rocks.

Panic seized her like a bolt of lightning.

When they were almost on her, liquid fire dripped down to her fingertips to ignite a fireball, to blast the creatures into dust-

But then a shadow leaped above her through the loud curtain of rain with a flash of steel glinting in the darkness.

The Skinwalkers shrieked as Robin's sword sliced through the air, hacking their heads off one by one, clean off the rest of their appalling bodies and giving them absolutely no time to fight back, the precision of the kills brutal and frightening in the shadows of the woods.

Maeve stared at him through the drumming rain, unblinking and shaking, terror still pumping through her veins as she watched the monsters' heads rolling away on the slimy rocks.

But then Robin was dropping to his knees before her, his hands cupping her face in wild concern, blue eyes panicked and assessing the many cuts and bruises on her flesh, tilting her head to the side to quickly inspect one of the bigger gashes on her cheek, the result of claw marks.

"Wikken Hells," he cursed under his breath, his features lined with an immeasurable mix of relief and worry, his entire body rigid with tension.

He was covered in blood and mud as well, just like her, with marks of the gruesome battle written everywhere on his skin, with deep ridges slashed across the leather plastron on his chest.

But he was alive.

She opened her mouth, wanting to speak, but the words stuck in her brain and instead her frozen fingers clutched at his shirt to remind herself that he was real.

Their eyes met briefly for a moment, timeless and wordless through the pouring rain, but he quickly looked away, unable to hold the weight of her gaze for a reason she couldn't name.

His bruised hands continued to scan her limbs for serious wounds and when he found none, he ripped through the bloody roots coiled around her left ankle, freeing her foot.

"Can you stand?" he spoke through the rain, eager to move yet clearly worried she might not be able to.

But she nodded decisively, despite her entire body aching at every joint as she painfully rose to her feet, Robin holding her by the arm as she shivered in the cold, her bones miraculously intact after the high tumble she'd just suffered from.

"We need to climb back up," he pointed above their heads at the top of the abrupt slant, littered with a tangle of roots and dead trees, which at least provided enough handgrips and footholds.

Maeve didn't need to be told twice and began the climb at once, ignoring her body's silent screams of protest as she moved and pulled herself up the slanted terrain, Robin carefully following beside her.

The cursed rain slowed them down in the muddy ascension, blinding them repeatedly and turning everything precariously slippery, but they pushed on resolutely, determined to reach the top no matter what, even if what awaited them might be a real carnage.

When Robin finally made it to the top of the slope, groaning with the straining effort of the climb, he swiftly grabbed her arms and hoisted her up the rest of the way until she was back on flat ground by his side, safe and in one piece.

They were completely drenched, wetter than fishes and their clothes soaked with mud, but Maeve couldn't care less and she was back to her feet in a flash, bracing herself to face the ocean of monsters she'd left behind with David and Leisa, but when she looked around she found the soldier standing in a field of white corpses, clutching his bleeding arm, while the Radakeel ruthlessly finished off a Skinwalker that was still twitching and croaking, pressing a Sleyan to the back of its head until it slumped dead on the ground.

The warrior woman raised her head and froze, her black eyes spotting her and Robin through the thick curtain of rain a few feet away, battered and bruised but alive, and her shoulders momentarily sagged down as she exhaled a mighty sigh and closed her eyes in overwhelming relief.

Thunder rumbled in the distant sky, followed by an oppressing silence that crashed on them like a suffocating cloak.

Time stood frozen as the four of them panted in the downpour, winded and drained by the gruesome fight.

Was it over?

Maeve prayed to whatever gods and spirits were listening that it was, afraid her knees would buckle at any moment.

The incessant, debilitating croaking of the Skinwalkers had stopped, the loud rain the only sound they could hear despite how hard they strained their ears in the darkness. But still, an eerie stillness seemed to choke them in the cold as they stood in the pool of white bodies, contorted faces with dead blind eyes staring back up at them lifelessly.

Maeve walked over to the soldier and the Radakeel tentatively, her legs aching as Robin followed close behind her, and she stared at the dead monsters in quiet aftershock, a part of her profoundly traumatized by the bloody carnage that had just taken place, while another part of her felt strangely numb to it all, as if none of it could possibly be real.

No amount of information and stories and descriptions could have adequately prepared her for these monsters and what they could do.

It was madness, and she couldn't wrap her mind around the terrible reality that tomorrow night would bring the same massacre, and the night after that again, and again, and again.

And then there would be the Kawasseas…

Maeve suddenly felt faint.

Lightning and thunder tore through the darkness, a deep rumble that shook the ground beneath her boots as she stared at the dead Skinwalkers at her feet, their white skin blurring in her vision.

_One man out of three makes it out alive of the Blind Mountains._

The words echoed in her head, hollow and final.

Dim-Dim had sent her to her death.

"That was stupid."

The rain poured around her, deafening and freezing as her bones rattled with shivers and she kept staring at the rotten corpses littering the mud, a life sentence coiling around her neck like a hangman's noose choking her.

It took her a moment to realize Robin was talking to her, his words ringing in her ears distantly, yet igniting some of the fire that was still simmering within her core.

"Excuse me?" Her voice was raspy and dry as she met his troubled glower in the darkness, stricken by its raw intensity and by the fact that it was directed at her.

His entire body was rigid like stone, a silent storm of anger and fear swirling in his eyes like smoke.

"I told you not to move until I came back," he said, almost growling, fists clenching at his side as if he was clinging to the last shred of his self-control. "You shouldn't have run after him."

He barely raised his voice, but still his words pulsed in her blood as she stared at him, wondering if he was genuinely furious because she had disobeyed him, or rather because he had been torn apart with worry about her safety during the terrible battle.

It wasn't long before the painful storm in his eyes betrayed which reason was fueling his reaction, but Maeve would not let him off the hook so easily, even if David and Leisa were watching their exchange uncomfortably.

"I wasn't raised to stand by and watch while a man sacrifices himself for nothing," she replied darkly, biting into her words.

"It wasn't for nothing!" Robin countered sharply, his voice heating up with anger. "He did what he had to do! That's what the bells are for, to create a diversion to get the Skinwalkers' attention away from the convoy!"

"Well I decided he could use a little help!" she protested firmly, holding his stubborn glare with her own fiery glower. "Which is exactly what Leisa did when she followed to aid me, and what _you_ did when you jumped down that ravine where I fell!" She took a careful step towards him then, daring him to deny the truth as she spoke gravely. "Which makes me believe that if it had been _me_ carrying the bell, you would have done the exact same thing."

"You don't have a bell!" he snapped at her irritably, silently fuming in the rain like an angry wolf.

"Maybe I should!" she snapped back immediately. "That way we could test my theory!"

He let out a quiet growl in response, shaking his head in frustration before suddenly rounding on Leisa. "Why didn't _you_ stop her? She could have been killed!"

Leisa sheathed her Sleyans with a small huff, their magical sizzle dying down. "You think I didn't try?" she asked levelly, almost rolling her eyes at him. "In case you haven't noticed, General, she's as stubborn as you are."


	24. Stubborn

**Chapter 20 - Stubborn**

They walked back to the convoy in silence, drenched to the bones under the rain, covered in mud and blood and unbelievably tired, as if iron boulders were strapped to their feet. She couldn't even feel the cold anymore, her limbs completely numb, with her toes and her fingertips frozen over, and every muscle aching like a wet cloth wrung too hard.

But she followed with her mouth shut, refusing to utter a single complaint as Robin led them back to the convoy, David and Leisa right behind her.

Even if the continuous rain was successfully masking the silence amongst them, the invisible tension was louder and stronger than ever, like a corrupted thread strung tight between them.

Their previous heated conversation was still nipping at her nerves like a stich at her side, her mind unable to make sense of the enduring protectiveness they kept demonstrating towards her over and over again. To be on the receiving end of such fierce protection for no apparent reason was driving her mad, even more so when her actions in battle were held against her because apparently it hindered their ability to keep her safe. It was infuriating, and they even had the nerve to scold her like a child for it, for trying to rescue one of their own men instead of letting him be butchered by monsters.

It made no sense to her at all, and she suspected that as long as they all refused to tell her the reason behind their behavior, which was surely linked to the color of her hair, she would have to bide her time and be patient. She would get her answers when they reached Denwood; Robin had promised her that much and she fiercely intended for him to keep his word.

The only problem was that at this rate, she might not even make it out of the Blind Mountains alive, the simple thought of facing a horde of Skinwalkers again tomorrow night sending a dreadful shiver down her spine.

But then again, if Robin and Leisa continued to protect her so fervently, perhaps she might just survive after all…but at what cost?

Before she could let her mind drift back to Dim-Dim and the extent of everything he might have known before tossing her into this wretched place, Robin slowed in his steps in front of her.

They had made it back. Finally.

And nothing could have prepared her for the horrific sight that unfolded before her eyes.

Blood.

Bodies.

A graveyard of corpses, Skinwalkers and humans alike, littering the muddy ground.

She froze beside Robin, her feet refusing to go an inch further as she stared wide-eyed at the horrifying canvas that was painted before them in the unyielding rain.

The aftermath of a massacre, with surviving victims trapped in a wrecked prison of tears and silence.

The sight was heartbreaking.

Soldiers were carrying the dead weights of the bony creatures and humping them in piles away from the trek line while others gently moved the bodies of the fallen soldiers and volunteers, laying them on the ground side by side in a row. Some of the dead had been violently mauled and were still bleeding, their flesh torn and their limbs either broken or ripped off.

Men, women and children were silently crying, whispering farewells to the lifeless corpses of the loved ones they had to say goodbye to, while devastated soldiers walked amongst their weeping souls to light torches and set the bodies on fire, the flames shining harshly in the grim darkness of the night despite the choking rain.

Battered and bruised, Maeve felt tears stinging her eyes as she watched the tragic scenery, unable to look away as many weeping farewells and short prayers to the dead echoed in the night. _"Until we meet again…"_

Robin stood beside her wordlessly, staring at the extent of the tragedy like a broken shield, and she had no words of comfort to offer him. The only thing she could do was hold his poignant gaze when he looked her way, exhausted, covered in mud and blood, and quietly mourning the loss of the people he was supposed to protect.

She wanted to reach out to him but she was unable to move, and when Simon and Mark walked up to them with gloomy faces, the General in Robin took over, duty driving him onward, and she could do nothing except watch him leave under the rain.

Her stomach twisted into knots and she felt sick, her eyes resuming their survey of all the wounded and grieving people huddled in the crammed tortuous trees, shivering like leaves as they tried to tend to their injuries as best as they could.

"David!"

Ally's desperate cry ripped through the air as the young woman raced across the slimy roots and threw herself at her husband a few paces behind Maeve, the soldier staggering on his feet while he crushed his wife against him with his good arm, the couple weeping with relief and joy.

Another soldier soon joined them with little Rose and Sam tucked in his arms, and as David embraced his children fiercely, Ally unexpectedly crashed against Maeve, wrapping her trembling arms around her neck.

"Thank you," she whispered in her ear, shaking with unbridled emotions and the ghost of complete terror. "Thank you for bringing him back."

Maeve hugged the young mother, tears swelling in her own eyes.

"Thank you," David breathed as well, stepping closer as his wife released Maeve and returned to his loving embrace, kissing and clutching her children. "I owe you my life. I am forever indebted to you."

Maeve shook her head in quiet protest, subtly wiping at her eyes through the rain. "I would chase after you again in a heartbeat. You owe me nothing."

The soldier stared at her, looking profoundly humbled and touched, then nodded solemnly in acceptance of her words before returning his attention and care to his family.

Averting her gaze to give them some privacy, she swallowed hard against the tide of emotions in her chest and quickly got a grip on her composure, forcing herself to move.

Instinctually, her feet guided her to Leisa and Coop as they distributed water and bandages to the many wounded seated amidst the muddy roots, some wrapping nasty gashes on their arms while others cleaned up deep bites on their legs.

Despite feeling painfully exhausted and aching at every joint, she insisted on aiding as many people as she could, helping with stiches and dislocated limbs, recovering satchels of food that had gone astray during the battle, salvaging broken weapons, listening and comforting those stricken with grief.

Hours trickled by as the convoy wept and grieved, licking its wounds like an injured animal before steeling itself for another long, gruesome day after an entire sleepless night, not to mention downright traumatizing.

It took forever but as a new day hesitantly inched closer, the heavy darkness finally traded its place with the usual grayish gloom of dawn, with a chilling dampness that clung to the morbid air as the rain yielded at last.

Maeve stood frozen in one spot for a long time, unable to tear her gaze away from the frail children and toddlers that seemed so disturbingly out of place in the destruction left behind by the bloody battle, that she nearly jumped out of her skin when Robert Thomet stepped beside her.

"You think we're all mad, don't you?" the tall bearded man from Denwood mused gruffly as he too glanced at the grieving families tending to their wounds. "You think we're out of our minds for bringing children in this cursed place."

His words were not voiced as questions, but rather as guessing assumptions of her thoughts and opinion, and Maeve found herself unable to deny the truth of them. It _was_ madness to bring innocent children in these foul, deadly woods. They would all be either traumatized or butchered, and it made her blood stir with alarming concern.

"I made the crossing from Southampton to Denwood when I was four," he began grimly, his deep green eyes drifting to distant memories just like when he had told her about the raid conducted by the Blood Raiders on his village. "My father was sick and no healer in Southampton knew what was wrong with him. They tried everything, but the sickness only got worse and worse every season." Robert stared ahead into space, lost in the past. "They said he would probably die within the next three moons, but my mother refused to give up. Her last chance was to try and bring him to the healers in Denwood." He paused then, levelling his heavy gaze back on her. "And she did."

Maeve remained silent, bearing the weight of his green eyes as he faced her more fully, his leather armor caked with mud and dry blood.

"I remember everything from that crossing…the screams, the blood, the monsters," he continued his tale, as if compelled to try and nuance her opinion on the matter. "But if you had to choose between the man you love and your child, would you be able to?" His question echoed in the cold air between them. "Would you be able to watch him die, knowing there might have been a way to save him?"

Maeve felt her jaw clench at the terrible question, her mind drifting to a ship with white sails on the high seas before she could catch herself. She glanced at the destroyed campsite and clamped her lips together, trying her best to keep this hypothetical _man_ nameless and faceless for the sake of their discussion. But still her chest swelled with something she could not name as she finally returned her gaze to the tall, gruff villager. "I don't think he would let me choose," she answered almost in a whisper, pushing the words past the knot that was forming in her throat. "He would never want me to bear the weight of such a choice."

Robert Thomet appraised her quietly, watching as she avoided his eyes and shifted on her feet uncomfortably, the ghost of a smile haunting his face. "I don't believe there is a right or a wrong choice…" he pondered gently, his voice trailing off as his green eyes sought the nearest children in the convoy as they sat with their families, battered and bruised, but alive. "These people all made theirs. They want to help their families in Denwood." He paused momentarily, his gaze becoming distant and shadowed once again. "And for what it's worth, I'm glad my mother saved my father."

Then he walked away, abandoning her to the dark clouds of conflicting thoughts amassing in her head. She understood his point, but her heart was silently breaking for all the children who would grow up with a missing parent after this crossing, fallen under the claws of the terrifying Skinwalkers, lost in the Blind Mountains forever.

She was thankful not to have to carry the burden of such a choice right now, and she forced herself not to judge those who had made it, whatever their reasons were.

With one last look at the bloodied convoy, growing colder and colder, she shoved herself in motion at last.

Her body was desperately screaming for rest as she finally wove her way back to her fellow companions around a small fire, tending to their respective wounds in silence and washing away all the blood and mud painted on their skin, with the flames casting off a welcoming cloud of heat.

With his massive stature, Mark was sitting on a rock with his trousers ripped open on the side of his thigh where claw marks had stopped bleeding, Robin was cleaning a nasty gash on his forearm and Simon was pressing a wet cloth to his temple, a thin line of dry blood trailing down his pale cheek. Next to them, Coop was cleaning up bloody arrows he had retrieved from the Skinwalkers' bodies to fill up their quivers again while Leisa stood by a tree, her eyes and ears acute for any suspicious sound that might echo from the woods even if the night was over, which was a comfort for the time being.

At least until darkness fell again, they were relatively safe, presuming the Skinwalkers wouldn't unexpectedly attack them during the day. It was a rare incidence to encounter them during daylight, but still Robin had seen it occur on a few occasions, which was more than enough to keep everyone on their toes.

When Maeve joined everyone by the fire, they wordlessly welcomed her and scooted aside to offer her a seat amongst them.

When she sat down next to him, limbs heavy like iron, Robin quietly offered her a wet cloth and hesitantly pointed to the gash on her cheek, catching himself before he almost pressed it to her skin. Their eyes locked in a quiet exchange, a thousand words drifting between them yet never spoken out loud, and she took the cloth from his hand with a silent _thank you_.

She had just pressed the soothing material to her stinging cheek when Leo trotted up to them and Robin stood up at once to face his comrade. "How many?"

The young soldier pressed his lips together grimly. "Forty-two," he answered, referring to the victims the Skinwalkers had killed during the night, the official number feeling like a punch in the gut.

"And the ringers?"

"Clive used a bell at the rear and managed to return alive, but Peter and Lucas are nowhere to be found," Leo said, shaking his head with sadness.

Everyone lowered their heads in sorrow, sharing a silent thought for the young brothers whom Maeve recalled both had long black hair tied up behind their heads. It appeared no one had run to their rescue while they sacrificed themselves with the bells. Or perhaps one brother had made the sacrifice and the other had followed to save him…

"The children are all safe, and the rest of the people suffered many different wounds, both minor and severe," Leo added, continuing his report. "Claw marks, bites, scratches, sprained wrists, broken legs, missing fingers…the list goes on and on."

Maeve watched as Robin wearily wiped a hand across his face and stood up to pace around the campfire, the wheels spinning in his head.

"What do we do?" Leisa asked gravely, her face veiled by her usual emotionless mask.

Robin stood with his back to them, staring at the rest of the convoy somberly. "We rest for three hours, get some sleep and stabilize the wounded so they can keep on trekking. Then we get on the move again and cover as much ground as possible before darkness settles in again."

 _And before the Skinwalkers return_ , Maeve thought dreadfully, watching as everyone silently tilted their heads in agreement around the campfire with no second thought, which somehow sparked a flame of revolt within her blood.

Before Leo could trot back to the rest of the campsite to carry Robin's orders, she spoke up with a mix of determination and a hint of provocation.

"What if Peter and Lucas are still alive?" she asked, poking at the subject no one wanted to address. "You're not going to go look for them?"

Robin turned to stare at her in mild surprise, as if unsure he'd heard her correctly. "And risk losing more of my men?" he asked back, answering his own question. "No."

"But maybe they're hurt somewhere," Maeve insisted yet again, glancing at the others to gauge their reactions.

"We checked the surrounding area and found no trace of them," Leo shook his head sadly, pointing out the obvious. "The Skinwalkers most likely killed them. There's no way they could-"

"You don't know that for sure. You just said Clive returned alive," she countered stubbornly with a shake of her head. "Maybe Peter and Lucas are hurt somewhere and are trying to find their way back to the convoy as we speak."

"We're not sending a search party out for them," Robin declared firmly, attempting to crush wherever this discussion was going. "We would lose too much time."

"Some of us can go look for them while you keep going," she proposed simply, hoping someone might agree with her as she stood up to face Robin. "We'll catch up with you later."

"No," he rejected the idea with a dangerous edge flickering in his voice, intently locking his blue gaze with hers. "We're not splitting up."

But Maeve looked straight back at him, her tone perfectly level and calm, yet simmering with a spark of defiance. "And I'm not continuing until I know for sure whether those two men are dead or if they're still alive," she stated with finality, a part of her genuinely caring for the missing brothers and hoping they were alive and safe, and another, more feral part of her, that suddenly just wanted to snarl and bite until Robin snapped like a twig, to provoke whatever disproportionate protectiveness he held towards her so she could prove her point and perhaps drive him to admit everything he was hiding from her.

"I'm not sending anyone out there, Maeve," Robin repeated with insistence, pointing at the looming trees with a warning, his tone shrouded in command as the General in him surfaced to counter her dangerous request.

Maeve pressed her lips together tightly and gritted her teeth, painfully aware that everyone was watching their confrontation closely as the air thickened with tension, like a storm forming on the high seas.

"Give me a bell," she demanded, the fragile silence dangerously shifting as she challenged Robin in front of his men, her demand downright provoking.

Everyone seemed to hold their breath and grow still as statues, while Robin looked at her like a wolf with his hackles raised, cornered and seething.

"No." His refusal was as final as her request, but she stood her ground.

" _Give me a bell_ ," she asked again, holding his heated gaze stubbornly.

But he quickly matched the fire in her eyes and shook his head with a low growl. "You almost got yourself killed during the attack tonight. I'm not going to give you the means to throw yourself in the face of danger again."

There it was again, that strange unwarranted protectiveness that simmered beneath his tensed composure. The same protectiveness that seemed to make Leisa follow her around like a second shadow to shield her from every danger. Protection without reason. Questions without answers.

But that wouldn't stop her. The lives of two men were at stake.

"I did what I had to do," she stated calmly. "If it wasn't for me, David would be dead right now."

"She's right, Robin…" Mark confirmed tentatively but was quickly silenced by a scowl from his superior as Robin shot him a silent warning not to interfere in the current matter.

"Look," she insisted again, still ablaze with determination. "You allowed me to be a part of this trek and I intend to protect these people any way I can, so I-"

"You can help by doing what you're told," Robin snapped angrily.

" _Robin_ ," Leisa warned in disapproval, as if he had just said something the wrong way, but Robin merely glowered at her in return.

Maeve looked between the two, wondering what line he may have overstepped as another tensed silence cloaked them all, but she continued to cling to her request.

"I was never good at following orders, General," she replied levelly. "You can either give me a bell, or I'll simply scream my head off to catch the Skinwalkers' attention and then blame you for a voice loss. Your choice. Although, the former alternative means much less trouble for you."

Everyone held their breath once more, watching as Robin stood still as stone, his fists clenching at his sides as he silently fought to keep his composure.

"If you go out there on your own, you won't make it back," he warned, blue eyes linking with hers again, profoundly annoyed and yet growing visibly worried.

"She won't be alone," Leisa suddenly declared as she stood by Maeve's side.

Maeve stared at the feline woman, momentarily speechless and stunned by her solidarity as the Radakeel proceeded to hand her her backpack, her sword and the daggers she had lost during the battle.

Words failed her as she wished to thank the woman, but then a part of her quickly suspected that Leisa had simply offered to accompany her out of necessity, to protect her, since she never seemed to let her out of her sight and acted as a human shield every time danger roared its ugly head.

But Maeve wasn't about to turn down such an offer, and she seized the opportunity right away before Robin could protest. "See? And I'm sure Coop would love to come with me as well, right Coop?"

The tanned-man beamed at her at once, his chest rising with pride as he swung his quiver over his shoulder and hopped to his feet to join her. "Sure!"

The flames from the campfire hissed and popped as Robin glowered at the three of them, his lips drawn in a firm line as anger almost radiated from him like steam.

She had managed to rally two of his men to her cause, defying his authority, and everyone was well aware of it.

But she stood her ground, burning with the genuine hope to rescue the lost brothers while also simmering with provocation against all the mysteries no one wanted to reveal to her. And yet a small corner of her heart ached with guilt at the same time.

Robin knew the Blind Mountains like the back of his hand, probably better than anyone else. He knew about all the dangers hiding behind every slimy rock and rotten tree, and about all the deadly creatures lying in wait to kill them all. He may be angry at her for defying him, but as she locked eyes with him, she also saw how profoundly afraid he was, torn apart with fear. Fear of losing more men, fear of failing in his mission to lead everyone safely out of the woods, fear that everyone would die because of him. He knew the cost of travelling the woods and he wanted to act in the best interest of everyone he had to protect, even if it sometimes meant he had to sacrifice soldiers in the process.

He had every right to be angry at her for her defiance, yet part of her wondered how much of that fury was aimed at himself. Because if he had the choice, she knew for certain that he wouldn't hesitate even one second to save the two missing men, but his duty as General and the responsibility he had towards the entire convoy simply forbade him to be reckless. The price would simply be too high to pay if he tried to save everyone.

_Yet why had he jumped down that ravine to save her?_

As she watched the swirls of emotions drifting in Robin's haunted eyes, with a silent plea buried beneath all his anger and frustration, she suddenly realized what she was asking of him. She was defying his authority and asking him to condone a rescue mission he was opposed to for obvious safety reasons, but she was also daring him to _let her go_ , to let her slip away from his protective radar where he would not be able to save her if something went wrong.

And that protectiveness was at the root of everything he was hiding from her, linked to the mystery of her hair.

Her little rescue mission suddenly felt much more important than she thought, echoing with much higher stakes than the lives of two men.

It was her own life that was at stake.

Would the General act in line with the duty he had towards the safety of the entire convoy or would he choose to follow after the red-headed woman whom he somehow had to protect at all costs?

"Simon," Robin finally spoke after a long pause, his blue eyes locking with hers like an anchor that rooted her on the spot, betraying his answer before he even uttered the words.

The blond captain stepped up. "Yes?"

"Take the lead and keep heading north-east," Robin declared grimly. "If we're not back before nightfall, it will be your duty to get all these people out of the mountains safely."

"But-"

"You can do it, Simon," Robin nodded to his friend with resolute confidence, leaving no choice to the soldier but to dip his head in acceptance and swallow hard with quiet dismay.

 _He was coming with her_.

The General was choosing _her_ , driven by some unexplained duty to protect her, that was stronger than his duty to ensure the safety of everyone else.

Her blood suddenly filled with dread and her mind blurred at the edges, unable to wrap around such a reality. Why on earth would her life mean so much?

She opened her mouth to speak but Robin was already moving, picking up a satchel by the fire to retrieve something, and by the time he returned to face her, the words had died on her tongue.

"Use it if you must, but _only_ if you must," he said in a grave tone as he handed her a bell, holding her gaze for a moment to make sure his words were sinking in.

Maeve took the bell, swallowing past the knot that was tightening in her throat. "I will."

Robin then shook his head with a low growl and looked away, a silent curse almost falling from his lips, as if her stubbornness would doom them all.

Then he threw the satchel angrily at Coop who caught it square in the chest, and grabbed his sword to slip it in its scabbard on his back.

When he walked past her to lead the way down the convoy to embark on their dangerous rescue mission, he lowered his voice to properly admonish her, his words both prickling her skin like needles and yet prompting a small smile on her lips.

"You must have driven that captain of yours completely mad."


	25. Rescue

**Chapter 21 – Rescue**

After scanning the surrounding area where the two brothers were last seen during the horrible fight before they disappeared in the cursed woods, the four of them plunged deeper into the rotten forest to cover more ground, hoping to catch the glimpse of a possible trail to follow. It proved to be a difficult task in the slimy crooked trees and several minutes passed with no sign of the soldiers at all, until Coop unexpectedly stumbled upon Peter's dagger lodged in a tree, with a set of erratic tracks on the murky ground that they could follow.

It seemed the brothers had been dragged in the mud for the most part, making the task of tracking their trail easy in some places like flat ground, but much harder in other places like jagged rocks and tangles of rotten trees. Not to mention that the drumming rain during the fight had probably washed away a lot of the initial tracks, so they were left with the need to constantly halt and reassess the direction of the trail.

And then there was blood.

They stumbled on the bright red color a few times, staining dark leaves and spattered in streaks on large stones, indicating where the brothers had been dragged by the Skinwalkers during the night. The blood was a reassurance that they were headed in the right direction, yet at the same it was a glaring reminder that the two men had probably been dead all along.

Maeve was well aware of that tragic possibility, and she knew the others also believed it to be true, but to her quiet surprise no one commented on it and simply kept on going at every turn, with Robin leading the way in the spine-chilling forest.

Leisa was marching right behind her as usual, a human shield ready to counter any threat, and Coop was closing up the rear with his entertaining personality, muttering a comment here and there to lift the heavy silence they had all shrouded themselves into, and also to keep them all awake.

As it was, none of them had slept at all last night, the gruesome attack from the Skinwalkers robbing them of any respite, and then Maeve had dragged them all into this little rescue mission, with empty stomachs and the clothes on their backs still wet from the heavy downpour. She was beginning to regret her decision, the exhaustion slithering its way into her veins like a fever, making her dizzy at times and dulling the edges of her senses. But she pushed on with her mouth shut and her teeth gritted.

One step at a time, she kept telling herself, her limbs heavy like lead. She had lost track of how many hours had passed, but she could sense it was already midday, and Robin had told Simon they would be back before nightfall. If they didn't find the missing brothers soon, the rest of the convoy would continue on without them, and they might never catch up…

"Well, if we're not shredded to pieces by the Skinwalkers or the Kawasseas by the time we make it out of the Blind Mountains, we'll sure catch our death in this dampness," Coop commented from behind Leisa, complaining about the cold drop in temperature since the downpour last night, yet his tone soon turned playful and suggestive. "Perhaps a small break would help? You know, sharing a little bit of body heat?"

"Would you keep quiet?" Leisa rebuked him, not at all amused by his innuendo.

But Maeve found herself smiling, tempted to play his game. "I'm sorry, Coop," she replied innocently. "I promised Robin's girlfriend I'd keep _him_ warm."

As soon as the teasing words left her mouth, she saw Robin miss a step in front of her, slipping on a slimy rock but quickly regaining his balance to toss her a look over his shoulder, an annoyed glare that failed to mask the reddening of his ears and she had to bite her lips not to laugh.

"Girlfriend?" Coop puzzled from the rear. "You mean Lilian?"

"Never mind," Robin growled and resumed their trek on the edge of a deep steep slope, on a narrow trail of intricately woven roots intermingled with rocks and dead trees.

Maeve watched her steps carefully as she followed after him, the four of them almost pressing their backs against the mountain side to steer clear of the abrupt slant to their right which dropped at least a good thirty feet below into a ravine.

She was tempted to tease Robin again but she knew she would be pushing her luck a bit too far if she did, so she remained silent instead, allowing Coop to rent about the cold once more as the trail widened in front of them and curved to the left.

"Wikken Hells," he cursed. "What I wouldn't give for a drop of sunlight…"

They all quietly agreed with him. The gloom of the dark woods after so many days of trekking was simply debilitating and suffocating, depriving them of even the smallest amount of sunshine and slowly robbing them of their sanity, but aside from lighting a few fires, darkness was an enemy they could not fight. They had no choice but to endure its heavy cloak.

Cautious in her steps, Maeve followed Robin around the curve in the widening path, silently battling the crushing weariness in her limbs and wondering if they would ever find the missing soldiers, or worse, their mauled corpses. Not to mention that time was ticking. If they didn't find them soon, they would have to turn back…

"Stop," Leisa suddenly halted behind her in the middle of the curve, a frown creasing her expressionless grim face as she pointed down below. "What is that?"

Coop inched closer to her side while Maeve and Robin backtracked to the edge cautiously, the three of them stretching their neck to look down where the Radakeel was pointing.

Maeve squinted to get a better view, her eyes landing on what looked like a bunch of white polished rocks resting at the bottom of the ravine about thirty feet below in a small clearing. It was a curious sight to behold, white stones in a canvas of darkness and decay.

She took another careful step forward, straining her eyes. "It looks like-"

But the words died on her tongue when she felt the ground quake beneath her feet with a hollow rumble.

"Get back!"

Robin's body collided with hers before she could even blink, his arm coiling around her waist to yank her back but it was too late, the rotten ground caving beneath them as a chunk of the trail abruptly broke apart from the rest of the winding path.

She heard Leisa and Coop shout and stretch forward to catch them but she and Robin were already falling, tumbling down the mountain side through sharp roots and jutting stones and sticky slime like two ragged dolls.

Her fingers frantically clawed into space and dirt, desperate to grab a hold of anything to ease her fall and her imminent landing below, but it was no use. She just kept falling and sliding forever down into the rocky ravine, the air ripped from her lungs and strangling her screams.

When the hard ground abruptly reappeared beneath her, nearly knocking her senseless as she twisted and rolled, she barely caught sight of Robin as he landed a few feet away from her, dazed and bruised and groaning in pain, because she was falling again.

Before she even knew what was happening, her momentum was propelling her further and clear off the edge of another drop carved out of the mountain side, the deadly cliff hidden by the rotten brambles.

She screamed.

Her legs went over the edge and she twisted over onto her stomach, her arms flailing wildly and her fingers scraping at anything she could touch while Robin dove for her like a mad man, landing straight at the edge of the drop just in time for his hands to lock over her wrists like shackles of iron as she dangled into thin air, suspended a hundred feet above the remnants of some dead waterfall.

Terror slammed into her body like a blast of thunder, her blood pumping into her veins like a wild storm as she looked up wide-eyed at Robin, fright and panic ripping her apart with broken screams falling from her lips as her fingers dug into his flesh.

The fall would kill her. If she slipped from his grasp she would die.

She kicked her legs to find some footing, her boots scraping at nothing but moss and dry roots, while he held on to her with all the strength he possessed, the muscles in his arms straining under his skin and his knuckles turning white.

But it was the terror etched on his face that paralysed her, his breathing erratic as he glanced down below at the fatal drop awaiting her.

If he couldn't pull her up, it was over. She knew it and he knew it too.

Fear swelled into her bones like a spreading fire, an inferno threatening to blast inside her chest as she wildly cast about for survival, but Robin's voice quickly sliced through her like a sharp blade.

"Maeve, look at me!" He called down to her, forcing her to look straight into his eyes as his iron grip on her wrists turned painful. "I've got you!" He assured her firmly, his words strong and sturdy like oak, dripping with sudden calmness. "I won't let you fall, you're going to be fine. I won't let go, I promise." His pupils were blown wide with terrible fear, but his deep and resonant voice sunk into her mind like a spell.

He wouldn't let her fall.

But he couldn't pull her up if she was panicking and trashing like a wild cat. He needed her to gather the fragile scraps of her composure and work with him.

Maeve stared up at him like a sailor lost at sea in a raging tempest and clinging to her only lifeline. She knew she had to calm down and focus, but her heart was racing in her chest like a loud war drum, with the urge to glance down into the terrifying emptiness that awaited her below.

But Robin held her gaze unyieldingly, never breaking contact, and she anchored herself into the strength and calmness buried in his blue eyes.

He wouldn't let her fall.

She swallowed hard, her throat locked tight with fear and her lungs desperate for air, and she forced herself to momentarily douse the storm of fire in her veins. She gave Robin a trembling nod, trusting him to haul her up to safety.

He gave her a single nod in return and pulled at her wrists, grunting with the effort of lifting all her weight, using the muscles in his arms, shoulders and back, bringing her up inch by inch until she was able to swing a leg over the edge at last and hoist herself up the rest of the way.

As soon as her entire body was back on flat ground, Robin snaked an arm around her waist and yanked her several feet away from the deadly edge, both of them slumping down to the ground to lay sprawled on their back side by side, completely winded and reeling from the rush of fear still pumping in their blood.

Maeve shut her eyes, her heart trashing in her ribcage like a wild beast while her labored breathing matched with Robin's. She was so dizzy it almost made her nauseous, and she ached all over, her limbs sore and probably bruised from head to toe.

But she was alive.

"This is the second time _you fall_ into a ravine, and this time almost down a deadly cliff..." Robin's voice drifted in the air as he still worked to catch his breath. "Is this a habit of yours? Falling off things?"

She huffed, still panting as well while his words sent a stab of longing in her heart. Falling down ravines, falling down ships…But she shrugged it off quickly. "This is the second time _you jump_ into a ravine to save me," she pointed out in return. "Is this a habit of _yours_? Risking your life for women you barely know?"

"No," he shook his head slightly in jest. "I only do that for women I've known at least two weeks."

A winded laugh fell from her lips as she tried to sit up despite the protest in her limbs. "I wonder what you do for those you've known for months and years."

Robin sat up with a grunt of discomfort, then rose to his feet with a wince. He cleaned his palms on his trousers then glanced down at her, meeting her gaze with an outstretched hand. "I guess you'll have to stick around to find out."

Maeve looked up into his penetrating eyes, so full of formidable terror a few seconds ago as she hung above certain death, then slipped her hand in his and allowed him to pull her to her feet.

They stood facing each other for a moment, trapped in the wordless silence that often settled upon them, until the awkwardness settled in like a thief.

"Thank you," she breathed, blinking away and taking a step back.

"Anytime," he replied, rubbing at a strain in his neck as he distanced himself as well, surveying their surrounding.

They both adjusted their gear, securing their swords on their back and checking daggers in their boots or fixed to their belts. She also straightened her poor imitation of a braid, messy and caked with mud, taking a moment to secure Sinbad's red bandana at the tip and tightening the knot firmly.

"You didn't have to come, you know." The words left her mouth on a whim, as if seizing the opportunity to confront him while they were alone, her blood still alight from her almost fatal drop.

Robin turned to face her, his features tensing, indicating he knew exactly what issue she wanted to tackle but instead he pointed at the edge of the cliff behind her.

"Well, it's a good thing I did, otherwise you would have fallen to your death." Then he retreated towards the clearing, urging her to follow him and postpone their argument for later. "Come on, we need to find a way back up and-"

"Why did you come?" She cut him off at once, refusing to let him off the hook as she crushed his attempt to change the subject.

His shoulders sagged as he slowed down momentarily, allowing her to catch up with him but he still refused to face her, his lips drawn in a tight line.

Marching into the pebbles and white stones with rising annoyance, Maeve repeated her question with sharp determination, this time ripping into the words with enough insistence to root him in place. "Why did you choose _me_ over the convoy?"

At that he froze on the spot like a pillar of stone, his entire body tensing as if readying for a fight. But she gave him no respite and stood right before him, looking him straight in the eye as she voiced her question again with iron resolve, blocking his way. "Why did you choose to protect me over everyone else? Why is my safety more important than all those people you left behind?"

He held the firmness of her sharp gaze with the weight of something she could not name, torn and cornered and defeated, as if he wanted nothing more than to lay all the answers she sought at her feet and yet somehow deeply afraid she would shatter before him if she knew the truth. It completely baffled her as she clung to the silence that stretched between them, forcing him to fill it with what he was hiding.

But then there was a shift in his features, something dark and dangerous shrouding his eyes as she saw him raise a finger to his lips in a silencing gesture, his chin faintly tilting toward something over her shoulder.

She froze, a sense of alarm surging into her bones like a clap of thunder.

She turned as slowly and as silently as she could, to steal a glance at what he had seen even if she already knew what it would be before her eyes landed on the Skinwalker.

The creature was hunched between boulders of rocks many yards down the clearing, its white bony figure ripping into something with its teeth.

It didn't seem to have heard them yet, thank the spirits, and as she surveyed the darkness of the rotten woods all around to check for any other monsters, she came to a terrifying realization.

It wasn't a clearing they were standing in.

It was the dry bed of an ancient river, which probably used to pour over the edge where she had almost fallen a few minutes ago.

And while the riverbed was littered with pebbles of all sizes, the white stones were not white stones.

They were bones.

_Human bones._

Frozen in fear, her eyes travelled from the frightening Skinwalker all the way down the riverbed to finally glance at her own feet, at the bones under her boots, femurs and broken spines and fractured skulls.

When she met Robin's gaze again, she could tell he had come to the same terrible conclusion.

They had stumbled into a graveyard.

That's what Leisa had spotted from the path up the ravine.

Maeve cursed inwardly. This day just kept getting better and better.

Then Robin gripped her arm firmly, pulling her with him as he slowly backtracked and headed for a set of heavy boulders big enough for them to crouch behind and hide from the Skinwalker.

"How many do you think are out there?" she whispered, pulling her sword from its scabbard on her back as Robin did the same, bracing for another ugly fight.

"I don't know. But just because we can't see them, it doesn't mean they aren't there," he whispered in return, stretching up to study the wicked beast and the surrounding area with his raptor blue eyes.

Maeve craned her neck as well to survey the clearing and the dead trees framing the riverbed, but she was unable to catch any sign of Skinwalkers lurking about in the shadows except for the single lonely creature hunched a dozen yards away.

"Only one way to find out," Robin murmured, handing her his sword while he unhooked his bow from his shoulder, which was miraculously still intact, and notched an arrow in place. "If there are other Skinwalkers about, this should draw them out."

Maeve watched as he pulled the string, leaning on the boulder for balance as he aimed for the white, skeletal monster. She held her breath, uttering a silent prayer in her mind to whatever gods and good spirits were listening that the deadly creature was alone and-

"Robin!" Coop's voice suddenly rang in the air as loud as a storm. "Maeve!"

Robin's arrow cut though the air with a whoosh, but the Skinwalker was faster, scurrying away like a spider towards the sound of the shouting voice.

" _Wikken Hells_ ," Robin cursed and was on his feet in a flash, rushing into the riverbed after the creature, already notching another arrow in place while Maeve hurried after him with their respective swords clutched in both hands, eyes frantically scanning the forest to spot any Skinwalkers who might lunge at them from the dark, a perfect spot for an ambush.

The dry bones clanked and crunched under their boots as they chased after Coop's shouts resonating up ahead as he searched for them, and Maeve couldn't believe how careless they were all being, making so much noise in the Blind Mountains when they were potentially surrounded by Skinwalkers from all sides. It may be daytime, thus reducing the odds of an attack, but the risk was still very much present. The massacre from last night could repeat itself at any moment.

Fortunately, Coop's shouts stopped quickly enough, the soldier either admonished into silence by Leisa or torn to pieces by the Skinwalker.

Maeve and Robin halted, straining their ears to locate their companions in the rotten woods, when a trembling voice suddenly echoed in the chilly air close by.

"General?"

Both their heads snapped in the direction of the feeble call, searching for its source along the rocky ridges of the riverbed, and when the voice was heard again, Robin recognized it at once.

"Peter!"

He dashed forward in disbelief, lead by the soldier's pained groan, and Maeve felt her heart swell when they circled around a bend and her eyes landed on not only Peter, but his brother Lucas as well.

They were alive.

Both of them.

A mighty breath escaped her lips as relief washed over her like a wave. This rescue mission had been a formidable risk to take, but at last the missing brothers were alive.

She almost felt dizzy with joy at the sight of them, but then her mood quickly soured.

They were alive, yes, but badly wounded, battered and bruised, weak and bleeding, and Lucas was lying on the ground, pale and unconscious.

This rescue mission was far from over.

Robin rushed for his men, dropping bow and arrow as Peter scrambled to his legs weakly, supporting himself with a branch as he limped and his General crushed him in a fierce embrace.

"What are you doing here?" Peter asked incredulously, eyes wide in disbelief and confusion plastered on his bruised face.

"We came to rescue you," Robin explained with a smile, tilting his head towards Maeve with a storm of emotions momentarily shifting in his small blue eyes. "You can thank _her_ for that."

Peter stared at her and Robin, mouth gaping open, the young man clearly unable to believe that his own General had actually left the convoy to search for him and his brother, a formidable risk that was never taken because it was too dangerous. The ringers were always left behind, their sacrifice honored and mourned.

But not this time.

Maeve smiled at the black-haired lad and crouched beside his unconscious brother, laying her swords down to inspect his wounds. "How long has he been out?"

"A couple of hours," Peter answered feebly, leaning on his branch for support as Robin joined her beside Lucas.

The soldier had a nasty gash on the inside of his right arm, close to his armpit where a major artery was located if Maeve recalled correctly from one of Firouz's many anatomy lectures. Peter had tied a tourniquet above the wound, hopefully stopping enough of the bleeding, but more alarming than that was her palm soaking with blood as she checked the man's head, the back of his skull hiding a severe wound.

"Lucas," she gently shook the soldier. "Lucas, wake up."

The young man moaned and his eyes fluttered open with a wince, but just as he began to register the faces hovering above him, he heaved violently and retched the content of his stomach, bile spilling to the pebbled ground as Robin flipped him on his side.

"He probably has a severe concussion," he grimly observed, then tossed her a somber look. "Or he's bleeding in his head."

Maeve knew the man's condition would only worsen if the latter were true, but she wouldn't leave the young soldier without a fight. "Lucas," she squeezed his shoulder, trying to keep him awake as he groaned in pain, encouraging him to sit and-

"Robin! Maeve!" Coop shouted again nearby, no more than a few yards at best.

"Over here!" Robin called back as lowly as he could, trying not to alert the Skinwalkers that might lurk in the darkness.

Running footsteps echoed around the ridge, crunching dry bones in the riverbed and soon Coop and Leisa appeared, weapons drawn and out of breath, the wild concern etched in their features quickly dissipating at the sight that greeted them.

"Peter!" Coop exclaimed, embracing the young soldier in his arms while Leisa's raptor gaze landed on Maeve and Robin, quickly judging if they were hurt, and when she was satisfied that they were both in one piece, she bent down to inspect the soldier's bleeding ankle as Coop released him.

"Looks like they were alive, after all," the Radakeel commented dryly, throwing Robin a pointed look as she hinted at his initial refusal to embark on such a risky rescue mission.

But Robin ignored her and focused on direr matters. "Did you see any Skinwalkers?"

"Only one, but he scurried away before we could take it down," Leisa replied grimly, securing the bandages already wrapped around Peter's wounded ankle, the young man leaning on Coop for support as his gritted his teeth in pain. "This graveyard must be where they drag their victims to finish them off after a hunt. Their nest must be close by."

"Which means we need to get out of here, _now_ ," Coop urged them all, the precarity of the situation promising nothing good the longer they remained in the terrifying riverbed of bones.

"Can he even walk?" Leisa asked, cold practicality filing her voice as she glanced at Lucas, pale and queasy as Maeve and Robin managed to ease him up to a sitting position.

The young soldier raised a shaking hand to his head, shutting his eyes in pain as he fought another wave of nausea. "I don't think I can," he spoke for the first time, his voice raspy and frail. "You need to leave me here, General. Otherwise I'll only slow you down and we'll all end up dead. Save my brother."

Peter opened his mouth to protest but Maeve beat him to it. "We're not leaving anyone behind," she declared firmly, locking eyes with Robin and silently daring him to argue with her. "Come on, we'll help you up." Before Robin could even protest, she circled an arm around the man's waist and lifted him up, forcing Robin to help her by draping the soldier's good arm over his shoulder for support.

The poor man swayed on his feet, weak and dizzy, but managed to remain upright.

They allowed the brothers to rest for a few moments, to gather their strength for the upcoming hours of trekking, offering them some water and roasted nuts as they leaned on a large boulder for support, while Robin retrieved his bow and he and Maeve both returned their swords to the scabbards on their back.

Once they were all geared up again, ready to leave, Coop pointed to the high narrow trail they had previously been following up the mountain side. "I hate to break the optimism, but how the hell are we going to get back up there?"

Robin joined his companion's side, inspecting their surroundings and trying to figure out the best route to take. He walked down the riverbed a few steps, studying the dark trees lining the ridges. "We can circle around on lower ground. Maybe we can find another-"

His words died abruptly when a Skinwalker bounded from the rotten woods and dove straight on him, pinning him roughly to the ground, croaking and snarling as it furiously tried to dig its teeth in his throat to bite his head off.

Maeve didn't even have time to scream or move because in the blink of an eye, Coop drew the string of his bow and an arrow cut through the air. As quickly as the attack had started, the Skinwalker dropped dead next to Robin, the arrow sticking out of its back.

Robin exhaled a mighty sigh of relief as he panted, sprawled on his back and resting his head on the stones and bones, eyes closing for a few seconds as he caught his breath.

That had been close.

Too close.

"Thank you, Coop," he breathed in gratitude.

"Anytime," the archer replied, swinging his bow back on his shoulder with a wink and helping his General up to his feet.

"We need to move, _now_ ," Leisa urged sharply. "This one was probably guarding the food scraps and there's no telling how close his friends are."

"Wait, what is that?" Coop frowned, pushing the Skinwalker's dead body with his boot to flip it over, crouching down to inspect its neck along with Robin.

Maeve and Leisa joined them, their eyes landing on the creature and what had caught Coop's attention.

A collar.

A leather collar locked securely around the monster's neck, with an iron loop in the middle where a chain had probably been tied, like a beast on a leash.

Maeve felt her blood run cold at the sight, shivers crawling on her flesh like needles.

"What's a Skinwalker doing with a collar around its neck?" Coop pondered, dismay filling his voice.

"More to the point, _who_ put it there?" Leisa specified, her troubling question echoing in the graveyard of bones around them.

Brooding over the strange discovery, his brow furrowed in deep lines, Robin unsheathed a knife from his belt and proceeded to cut through the leather, removing the collar from the skeletal beast.

Then his shoulders tensed, his entire body going rigid as he inspected the man-made constraint and then the Skinwalker's neck again where another contraption was locked.

"This isn't just a collar…" he gravely observed, his tone low and resonant as his fingers grazed what had been hiding beneath the leather collar; a choker of golden metal. "This is a Dallion."

They all stared at the disturbing device around the beast's neck.

Maeve swallowed hard, her bones suddenly thrumming with a silent warning, her veins swelling with a sense of dread she could not explain. She had no idea what the contraption was, but she could feel its cursed magic pulsing in the putrid air from where she stood without even touching it. Dark and dangerous magic.

"What's a Dallion?" Coop asked, his face still contorted in somber puzzlement.

"A magical collar meant to subdue one's powers, and inflict unimaginable pain to its victim," Robin explained, his blue eyes shadowed and profoundly troubled.

"So it's a torture device…" Coop rephrased, yet remaining greatly confused. "But what's it doing around a Skinwalker's neck? For what purpose?"

"You think the Blood Raiders could have done this?" Leisa wondered, growing more and more alarmed. "To use these creatures as weapons against us?"

"I have no idea," Robin shook his head, as clueless as his companions and looking twice as worried and disturbed. He scrubbed a hand over his short scruffy beard and stood up, glancing around the riverbed as if the answer would appear, but the twisted trees remained quiet and eerie. "This is a problem for later," he declared, clutching the leather collar in his hand to keep it as evidence for when they would have time to debate on the worrisome matter. "Right now, we need to catch up with the rest of the convoy."

Coop and Leisa nodded in agreement with grim frowns, while Maeve felt rooted in place, still staring at the dreadful metal choker around the dead Skinwalker's throat. "Can't you remove it?" She didn't know why it mattered to her so much all of a sudden, but she felt like no being alive, as gruesome as the Skinwalkers were, deserved to have such a foul, terrible device locked around its throat like a slave.

Robin shook his head gravely. "No." He knelt down and moved the Dallion all around, showing her its entire circumference around the creature's neck.

There was no joint, no bracket, no clip. As if the Dallion had been forged directly around its victim's throat.

"Only the person who put it on can remove it," Robin explained, his blue eyes shadowed with a veil of distant, yet vivid concern. "Whoever that was."

Then he stood up again, gently taking her arm to steer her away from the disturbing sight of the collar.

A collar of torture and subjugation.

Maeve tore her gaze away at last, but failed to shake the uncomfortable feeling that had settled in her core, like some prickly vine sinking its thorns into her flesh to slowly bleed her dry, a discomfort that seemed to haunt Robin as well as he walked closely beside her, tensed and rigid and radiating protectiveness.

She never wanted to see the terrible device again.

The sooner they got out of this graveyard the better.

"Let's go," Coop signalled, helping Lucas' frail weight to his feet and draping his good arm over his shoulder while Robin circled an arm around the man's waist.

They opened the march, leading the way through the tortuous woods while Maeve followed with Peter, supporting the lad as he limped and aided himself with a branch, and Leisa closed the rear behind them, watching their backs like a guardian hawk.

Reaching the higher grounds again proved a formidable task, bearing their own weight in the ascension as well as the weight of the wounded brothers who agonized with every step. The painstaking climb lasted forever, forcing them to stop numerous times so the young soldiers could catch their breath, and by the time they managed to backtrack in the trail to finally return to the bloody site where the convoy had been massacred the night before, night was almost upon them, the dull greyness of the Blind Mountains slowly becoming darker and darker.

An anguishing countdown to another night who may be as deadly as the first.

"We'll never catch up with the rest of the group at this rate," Coop murmured wearily, leaning on his bow as they made yet another halt to rest and drink what little water they had left. "They must have covered at least two good miles since this morning."

"And we can't continue during the night," Leisa added, showing signs of weariness for the first time since the trek through the cursed woods had begun two weeks ago. "The Skinwalkers will skin us alive."

Handing Maeve his gourd for a sip of water, Robin looked up through the canopy of black rotten leaves above their heads. "We still have an hour of light left before dark," he stated, his voice gruff and tired. "We should keep going as far as we can and if we don't find them by nightfall, we'll make camp. With just the six of us we shouldn't attract too much attention."

"Wonderful," Coop said with fake enthusiasm as he slipped his backpack on again, rolling his shoulders to shrug off the ache in his muscles.

Maeve was beginning to feel dizzy. No sleep. No food. Little water. Her body was aching all over from bruises she had stopped counting. If they didn't catch up with the rest of the convoy then their chances of survival were dangerously low, and she had no intention to die here in this rotten forest, especially since she was the reason for their current predicament.

They resumed their trek in silence, advancing slowly in the tortuous roots and dead trees, Robin and Coop supporting Lucas as the man dozed in and out of consciousness. Peter was faring better than his brother but he was still badly limping, the pain in his ankle shooting up his leg whenever he put weight on it and Maeve was beginning to suspect something might be broken.

She and Leisa took turns in supporting the young lad, the Radakeel insisting to give Maeve a little respite every hour so she wouldn't faint with exhaustion.

As it was, these were the most excruciating hours of trekking she had experienced since the beginning of the crossing. As they followed the trail that would hopefully lead them back to the convoy, the tortuous terrain, slick with mud and slime, went up the entire time. It was a constant ascension, not granting them a moment's respite, ripping through their lungs and tearing at the muscles in their legs as they pushed forward.

Even through her own heavy breathing she could hear the others panting hard in the endless climb, groaning and wheezing as they helped the wounded brothers as best as they could while their hands often cut open on sharp misplaced rocks and their feet slipped on ragged wet stones.

Sweating all over in the cold damp air, Maeve began to shiver uncontrollably, her fingers numb and her thighs burning with every step she took. She doubted she could last much longer, but then the ground under her feet miraculously flatted out, and she nearly cried when Coop's voice hissed with joy in the gathering darkness.

"Robin, look!" the archer pointed in the distance as they all panted heavily, their lungs burning from the difficult exertion.

Through the dark twisted trees many yards away, a collection of small golden lights was faintly glowing like candles in a row.

The convoy's campsite.

Coop broke out into exhausted laugher, soundless and cautious in the gathering night. "We made it!"

Maeve's shoulders slumped down in utter relief, her joints sore and hurting and begging for rest as they all picked up the pace with a temporary renew in energy to reach the safe haven of the convoy.

Sleep, she thought desperately.

Soon they would finally rest and eat and sleep.

That was all she prayed for.

When they reached the edge of the campsite at last, a soldier on watch immediately spotted them and rushed over. It was Simon, his pale skin painted golden in the torchlight and his blue eyes wide with disbelief.

"Robin!" he exclaimed with a hushed whisper as Mark and Leo both jumped to their feet behind him, jolted awake.

As they all helped Peter and Lucas settle down near the closest campfire, the poor brothers collapsing in exhaustion, everyone's face lit up with wide smiles and fierce hugs were exchanged, as if they hadn't seen each other for years.

Maeve was surprised to receive embraces as well but she welcomed them all, grateful to reunite with her companions who had been ridden with worry while they were gone. It was a miracle they had returned alive and in one piece, a feat that she hoped she wouldn't have to repeat anytime soon.

Awakened by the small commotion of their return, a few people close by, soldiers and civilians alike, soon rushed over to tend to Peter and Lucas with food and water and bandages, shocked to see the lost brothers alive, and Maeve didn't miss the bewildered and almost reverent glances they tossed her way as they whispered amongst themselves in amazement. _"She brought them back..."_

She smiled at them weakly, too faint and dizzy to say anything as Simon ushered the rest of them to another campfire at the edge of the convoy, urging them to sit and rest at once.

"We were beginning to think we'd never see you again," Simon murmured with both shock and relief, his features alight with barely contained joy.

"You can't get rid of me that easily," Robin replied with a weary smirk as they all flopped down around the warm flames, bones and joints rusty and aching. "How much ground did you cover today? I honestly didn't expect us to catch up with you before nightfall."

Simon gazed around the silent campfire where whispers of the General's return were quickly spreading. "Well, I decided to let everyone rest a little longer this morning. We only got moving again around noon and with the bloody ascension up the mountain side you just climbed, with all the wounded people we have, it took us forever," the blond-haired captain explained. "By the time dusk settled in I realized none of you had taken much food or water on your excursion so I called it a night, hoping we weren't too far ahead of you already."

Robin smiled and patted his friend's shoulder with both pride and gratefulness. "Well done, Captain."

Simon dipped his head and beamed, then addressed them all. "Get some rest, now. You can tell us all about your little adventure tomorrow. Right now, I'm sure you're all desperate for food and sleep."

"Aye aye," Coop agreed, teeth tearing through a piece of bread as he slumped down into his bedroll like a rock, his eyes dropping close within seconds.

"And he's out," Mark said, a grin stretching his lips at the sight of his exhausted friend.

"So am I," Leisa stated, her cascade of red braids falling over her shoulders like a river as she shot Robin a pointed look. "I leave _her_ to you. Make sure she doesn't run off to save a squirrel or something."

Robin gave the Radakeel a small nod of agreement at her underlying command while the others chuckled and Maeve rolled her eyes, watching as the other woman settled down into her bedroll, probably a lot more exhausted than she let on.

"It's good to have you back," Leo murmured, his young face creased with haunted lines in the firelight. "If you hadn't returned…"

"We did," Robin replied softly, banishing whatever dark thoughts the young soldier wanted to voice.

Leo smiled at his General, then bumped shoulders with Mark. "Come on, let's give them some rest."

The two rose to their feet along with Simon and wove their way further into the campsite, returning to their watch over the slumbering convoy and promoting cautious silence at all cost to keep the dangers of the lethal forest at bay for as long as possible.

Leisa succumbed to sleep within minutes, joining Coop in a much-needed respite after nearly spending forty-eight hours on their feet chasing missing soldiers, leaving Maeve and Robin the only ones left awake by the fire.

Sucked dry of strength and energy, neither of them had enough force to speak, and for a long time they simply stared blankly at the flames, wrapped in an invisible bubble of warmth and exhaustion, shoulders barely touching as they sat side by side.

"You were right," Robin finally murmured after a while, his voice deep and gruff as his gaze fixed the fire. "About going back for them."

Maeve exhaled tiredly, feeling fainter and fainter as sleep laced through her limbs. But she still managed to refute his humble admission. "Your motives not to go were just as valid as mine for going. I was just lucky," she stated lowly, well aware that her little rescue mission might have killed them all in the end. "If there had been more Skinwalkers guarding that graveyard…we would all be dead right now."

He simply hummed in reply, his blue eyes cast on the flames in thought. "At least we learned something valuable. Now we know what they do with the people they drag into the woods. They don't necessarily eat them right away. Some are still alive."

A shadow fell on his eyes then, his fists clenching as his forearms rested on his knees, as if the terrible memories of all the men he had once left behind on previous crossings were coming back to haunt him. How many of those men had been dragged to that graveyard, still alive?

Maeve reached out to him, resting a gentle hand on his fist to try and ease his torment. "You didn't know," she whispered, meeting his tortured blue eyes as he looked at her.

His jaw clenched for a moment, but then his fist relaxed, unclenching as he breathed out heavily. Fatigue was clearly nibbling at his bones just like her and yet she could feel him fight against it, his body rigid and taut and denying him the rest he desperately needed.

Still, he forced a stubborn smile. "Get some sleep," he told her gently. "You've earned it."

But Maeve would not let him cripple himself with self-doubts and exhaustion. Not tonight. Not alone. "I will if you will," she replied plainly, forcing him to look at her. "I know you haven't been sleeping much in the last few days. If you don't sleep then neither will I."

He seemed rattled by her words for a moment, gazing at her in the darkness with golden shadows shifting on his face. He seemed to realize she could see right through his pretence, reading him as easily as an open book, and for a moment his blue eyes danced over her features, as if completely mesmerized by her.

Maeve had to remind herself to breathe, but then he quickly caught himself and looked away, a small smile curving the corner of his lips as he accepted his defeat.

"Fine," he conceded at last, letting her win. "Let's sleep."

Maeve let out a thankful breath, quietly reveling in her victory and profoundly grateful she didn't have to fight with him over something as crucial as sleep.

She nearly missed the playful glint that suddenly sparkled in his eyes as he grabbed his bedroll. "So long as you keep me warm," he smirked, referring to the promise she had made to Lilian in Southampton.

A soundless laugh escaped her lips as she smiled at him, ready to counter his tease with a catchy reply of her own but then the words died on her tongue as they both froze.

A bell was ringing.


	26. Chainfire

[ ](https://imgur.com/rgB7W2E)

**Chapter 22 – Chainfire**

They both shot to their feet with their swords, cold dread cracking on their flesh like a whip as Leisa and Coop sprung out of their bedrolls.

"You've got to be kidding me," Coop grumbled, all traces of sleep evaporating as he grabbed his bow and swung his quiver on his shoulder.

Within seconds, screams of terror filled the night with the distant blend of steel and hideous croaks while another bell rang, and then another, and another, a chaotic uproar spreading through the convoy like oil catching fire.

"This doesn't sound good," Leisa murmured, Sleyans crackling in her hands as she stared at the unfolding disorder in the campsite as soldiers scurried to their feet with weapons to parry the approaching attacks from the skeletal beasts, the vicious croaks echoing louder and louder as they spread through the campsite.

Amidst the rising confusion, Simon, Mark and Leo rushed towards them, swords drawn at the ready, and they had almost reached them when a shrieking Skinwalker bounded from the darkness and crashed into Simon violently, sending him to the ground with a painful grunt.

Robin lunged to tackle the beast off him but before he could even reach the man, an arrow whistled through the air and hit the creature's back.

Maeve's head whipped around to see that once again Coop had made a perfect shot, another arrow already notched in place for the next monster's assault.

Robin quickly helped his companion to his feet as Mark and Leo reached their little group.

"They're everywhere!" Leo warned agitatedly. "They're surrounding us from all sides!"

"Oh I _hate_ Skinwalkers," Mark growled under his breath, his battle-axe clutched with both hands as he glared at the foul woods.

They stood together, forming a circle to cover every opening and protect each other's back, holding their breath as they braced themselves for the impending waves of rotten corpses that would surely swarm them like ants.

Maeve held her sword in a death grip, staring wide eyed at the saturated darkness of the twisted trees and with her heart pumping in her chest like a dangerous thunderstorm. She felt dizzy from her severe lack of sleep but her blood was stirring, flooding with the instincts of survival. It was the only thing that was keeping her standing on her legs, that and the white-hot fear of being ripped apart by Skinwalkers.

"Incoming!" Mark shouted before he smashed his battle axe into a Skinwalker's chest as it charged him from the dark trees with a sickening shriek.

Within seconds, dozens upon dozens of skeletal blind creatures spilled from the rotten woods like an army of crawling carcasses with crooked limbs and glistening fangs.

It was the beginning of another massacre.

In the outbreak of general panic in the convoy, exploding with wild shouts as soldiers and civilians ran everywhere, swords cut and hacked, daggers were thrown, arrows were notched and bowstrings were pulled and released repeatedly.

Everyone stabbed and slashed and kicked and punched, blocking the onslaught of Skinwalkers as best as they could, but in the blink of an eye, the vicious creatures were everywhere, crawling on the ground, climbing up trees, leaping from branches and rocks, clawing at people's clothes to bring them down, biting and scratching and hissing as blood stained the forest all around.

The blind monsters were everywhere, too fast and too strong, and ripping through their ranks with formidable bloodlust.

If Maeve had thought last night had been horrifying, this was nothing compared to it. This was death pouring down on the living like poisonous rain, plunging everything into an horrific carnage.

People were screaming all around her. Claws were ripping through flesh and tearing skin, bones were cracking and breaking, blades were slashing into white bodies that kept spilling from the darkness like waves and bells were ringing in every direction like some ominous damnation from the gods who had deserted these doomed mountains.

Everywhere she looked her eyes found blood and terror, amidst a sea of skeletal monsters crawling all around with empty white eyes.

Soldiers were falling like flies, and as she kicked a Skinwalker in the head and slashed its bony chest, a sickening feeling abruptly flared in her gut, twisting into knots like coiling snakes.

They wouldn't make it.

This was is.

This was the end.

Like an answer to her ominous thought, a Skinwalker brutally threw itself at her and snapped its jaw around her wrist, fangs sinking into her flesh with such force that she screamed and dropped her sword, pain surging through her hand as Robin drove his blade into the creature's back and hurriedly yanked her behind him as Leisa took the blow of the next skeletal beast, pressing her buzzing Sleyan onto its head.

"Protect her!" Robin shouted in the night like a madman, commanding the others to close in around her like a shield.

It made no sense to her as she clutched her bleeding wrist, groaning through gritted teeth as the stabbing pain from the deep puncture wounds radiated to her fingers and her elbow like liquid ice.

Her sword hand was useless now, but still she pulled a dagger from her boot with her left hand, determined to stand and fight until her least breath.

She pushed through Coop and Mark on the other side but Mark pulled her back by the waist with an iron arm, just in time to swing his axe and behead a screeching Skinwalker that bounded for them with a gaping mouth of fangs.

Maeve fought against the massive man's grip like a wild cat, and Mark had no choice but to release her just as another beast latched onto his thigh and brough him to his knees, but she quickly thrust her dagger between the skeletal ribs and kicked the creature away.

She whirled around then, aiming to fight beside Simon and Leo but Robin stubbornly gripped her arm with a bleeding hand, forcing her to remain within their shielding circle while they were being swarmed by killing machines ripping at their flesh.

"Stop!" he shouted in wild despair. "We're trying to protect you! Stay down!"

"I don't need protecting!" Maeve spat back above the screams and the bells. "Let me fight!"

"I can't let you die!" he growled back at her, his eyes alight with such visceral fear it froze her on the spot.

But then a Skinwalker threw itself at him, knocking him down at her feet to rip into the leather plastron that covered his chest.

Maeve raised her sword to hack the crazed beast into pieces but Leisa was quicker and rammed a Sleyan between its protruding shoulder blades, the Skinwalker uttering a deafening screech before dropping dead on the bloody ground.

Maeve helped Robin back up, but the Radakeel suddenly fisted a hand in her shirt and roughly yanked her forward, hissing a stern warning inches from her face. "Stay down or I will knock you out myself."

Maeve stared at the other woman in complete bewilderment, fury flaring in her blood. "Wha-"

But before she could protest, Leisa shoved her back into their protective circle, locking her up once more between their shielding stances as they fought against waves of horrific monsters.

Maeve stumbled to her knees in exhaustion, powerless and clutching her throbbing wrist as her vision blurred at the edges and her dagger clanked to the ground. She was losing too much blood and the last of what little strength she had left was already fading away.

But she could still make out the terrible outcome of the fight that was roaring all around her. Through her companions' protective statures, she could catch glimpses of the massacre beyond, the entire convoy falling apart in the foul woods.

Skinwalkers were dragging bodies in the mud, ripping through flesh and bones. People were screaming and wailing, shouting for loved ones and crying for help.

This was it.

This was the end.

They were submerged by an army of blood-thirsty monsters who were killing them one by one.

As she blinked against the fragmented pieces of the carnage, the screams and the bells ringing in her ears like the rumbling of a storm, Maeve saw Leisa losing her last Sleyan, Robin struggling with one dagger, Mark using his bare hands, Coop with no more arrows and Simon wielding a dying torch.

"We can't hold them off!" Leo called out in rising panic as he kicked a Skinwalker in the jaw. "Robin! What do we do?"

But no answer came from Robin as a croaking creature leaped on him and brutally crushed him to the ground once more, while Leisa was unable to aid him as she struggled to fend off three other beasts. Robin succeeded to kick the Skinwalker off him but failed to get back up as the skeletal weight was immediately replaced by another white monster, its sharp teeth glistening with the blood from a previous victim as it furiously clawed at its new prey. Robin wrestled with it like a snarling wolf, but the Skinwalker tore the dagger from his grip and ripped through the leather plastron at his shoulder like paper, next aiming for his throat.

Maeve watched the scene in terror, paralysed by dizzying fatigue, but then something sparked in her blood like liquid flames, a clap of thunder rattling her bones.

Her fingers abruptly itched with magic, like a storm gathering on the high seas to tear the world asunder with fire and blood.

The sliver of strength she had left within her core suddenly surged forward like a wave.

This was _not_ the end.

She rose to her feet and with a roar falling from her lips a fireball erupted from her bleeding hand and slammed into the creature with a blast. The Skinwalker disintegrated into ashes with a piercing screech and Robin and the others all stared at her in complete shock.

But she barely registered their reactions. Fire was igniting in her veins and magic was singing in her flesh, a terrifying outburst of energy exploding inside her out of sheer survival instincts.

Another fireball shot from her hand again, colliding with the beast that dove for Simon and blowing it up to ashes. By the third fireball, the Skinwalkers were all twisting their heads up with their beady white eyes blindly searching for the source of the attack as the soldiers and the volunteers that were still alive glanced around in terrified confusion, wondering what was happening.

But the brief interlude was short-lived as the vicious creatures quickly resumed their butchery and Maeve knew she had to act fast.

With fiery resolve thrumming inside her like a spell, she strolled past Robin who was still too rattled by the turn of events to stop her, but Leisa was still vividly alert and stubbornly blocked her way, hellbent on protecting her tooth and nail.

But Maeve was done with this little game.

"You have three seconds to get out of my way," she glowered at the other woman, dead serious, and whatever the Radakeel saw in the fire of her eyes then, she obeyed her command at once and stepped aside, choosing instead to follow her and shield her from behind.

Without losing any more time as magic pumped in her limbs like a wild raging storm, Maeve kicked a Skinwalker in the head and climbed a set of small boulders so she would have a better view of the chaotic battle in the encampment.

Her head was spinning with dizziness and her legs were threatening to give out from under her, but she clenched her jaw tightly, willing her energy to last as long as it could.

Another series of fireballs ignited in her hands and she flung them at every Skinwalker she could see, hitting home every time and grinding the creatures to dust with each blast. Weakened soldiers and volunteers gasped in bewilderment, staring wide-eyed at her, the red-headed madwoman perched on a rock and raining fire upon the ocean of monsters.

Faces danced before her eyes as she spotted Ally and David, clutching their terrified children. She saw Peter and Lucas in the mud, surrounded by wounded soldiers trying to protect them. She saw Robert Thomet from Denwood, his heavy beard reddened by blood as he battled the gruesome creatures crawling all around him.

She felt her knees buckle at the sight of the carnage before her eyes.

There were too many of them.

It was like throwing a glass of water in a volcano.

She'd never be able to conjure enough fireballs to kill all the Skinwalkers, not unless she could set the entire bloody forest on fire.

She had to try something.

Anything.

But first, she needed to reach the heart of the massacre, where she'd be able to blast as many Skinwalkers as she could.

Gritting her teeth with resolve as her head spun with vertigo, she jumped down from the rocks and grabbed the hilt of a sword stuck in a root. Her mind went blank as the only thing fueling her onward was the primal energy of survival and the raw impulse to protect the people around her at all costs.

With no second thought, she charged through the ongoing savagery of the battle, through the blood and the screams and with Leisa at her back like a guardian panther.

She felt like she was moving in a dream somehow, ablaze with a fiery determination to put an end to this brutal madness. With every step she took in the barbaric display, she slashed at the Skinwalkers who blocked her progress as if she was cutting vines in a jungle, hacking at bony arms and legs, kicking and punching, yanking creatures off people and blasting them with fireballs, navigating further and further into the fight so she could reach the middle of the encampment while Leisa glided behind her like a human shield, killing anything that tried to charge at her.

When she finally made it to what she estimated was the center of the battle, bruised all over with her wrist bleeding and throbbing, Maeve didn't lose a second.

She slammed the blade of her sword in the blood-stained ground before her and shut her eyes momentarily to suppress the dizziness that roared in her head like a beast.

This was it.

With one silent prayer to whatever gods or spirits had abandoned this forsaken wasteland, she let the magic within her core unleash.

Like a dam crashing open.

Thunder quaking beneath her boots.

An explosion of fire.

Without really knowing what she was doing, she extended her arms out to the sides and with a sudden deafening blast, bloodied fingers spread wide, massive bolts of liquid fire shot from her palms on either side of her like a storm of flames. A primal roar fell from her lips as the powerful discharges of coiling red magic blasted into the nearest Skinwalkers and blew them up to cinders.

An inferno was blazing in her chest, her vision completely red as the formidable storm of power was ripping her apart from the inside.

She had never attempted anything of this magnitude before, not even when she had brought down a rock Colossus with red lightening many months ago.

But this was no red lightening.

This was a monstrous tempest of roaring flames, flowing from her outstretched hands like rumbling rivers of fire pouring out of her core and slowly sucking her dry.

Her legs began to shake, the magic tearing through her lungs and her limbs, but she bit her lips and held on with a groan.

She had to burn the Skinwalkers down. All of them.

She roared again with both pain and feral rage, allowing the liquid flames to lick at her bones and feed on whatever energy they needed to continue blazing outward in the bleeding night.

Her palms burned as the rivers of fire surged with renewed intensity, and what happened next nearly brought her to her knees.

The flowing bolts of fiery magic began to ricochet off their initial targets, hitting Skinwalkers one after the other as the liquid flames ignited into a network of blasts that spread from one creature to the next, forking and dividing again and again and again until there was fire everywhere, a roaring inferno blending into an eardrum-splitting symphony of croaks and inhuman screeches as the monsters burst into dust where they stood.

She was tearing through their skeletal ranks with all the destructive force of a mighty storm, with people all around hunching their shoulders and covering their faces against the blistering heat while also shouting over the rumbling tempest, raising fists and swords in the air with cheers and exclamations as their gruesome attackers were defeated one by one before their eyes.

But she could barely hear them.

The storm in her blood was slowly destroying her as well, the inferno pouring from her core sucking her dry of what little strength she had left.

She was at the end of her wits. There was no fire left inside her to burn.

Her legs shook and a stabbing pain clapped in her head like thunder.

She tried to scream but she choked on the air that locked in her lungs.

Without warning the magic inside her died down, the flames abruptly vanishing from her palms as the darkness of the night crashed down on her like the strike of a hammer.

Her arms fell at her side in exhaustion and her vision blurred. Her knees buckled but she caught her balance on the sword she had planted in the ground minutes ago.

Everything spun around her, her head splitting open with a blinding pain.

She heard the bright cheers and exclamations of the soldiers and volunteers who gathered around her, but they all blended into bodiless buzzes and distorted images.

She was going to faint.

She tried to stand desperately but the edges of her vision tunneled into a dull grey and the colors slowly faded from her sight.

The last thing she saw was Robin racing through the crowd, his blue eyes alight with fear and his arms catching her as she fell, her entire world going black.

* * *

_And as the sky's falling down_

_It crashed into this lonely town_

_And with that shadow upon the ground_

_I hear my people screaming out_

_Now I see fire, inside the mountain_

_I see fire, burning the trees_

_And I see fire, hollowing souls_

_And I see fire, blood in the breeze_

_And I hope that you remember me_

-I See Fire, Ed Sheeran


End file.
